


Mythical Creatures

by Passion4Spike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passion4Spike/pseuds/Passion4Spike
Summary: Joyce is stuck in the hospital with a hole in her skull – stupid brain tumor – and it’s nearly Christmas. What’s a mother to do other than turn to one peroxided vampire for help making the season shiny and bright for her daughters?A fun, snarky, fast-moving (as far as Buffy's attitude toward Spike goes) feel-good short story for the holidays.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	1. Not-enough-ness

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Holi117 and PaganBaby for their beta assistance, suggestions, and ever-needed positive feedback! Any mistakes are mine because of all the last-minute fiddling. Thanks also to sandy_s for suggesting I take this drabble (it's under 15k words) that was originally posted as a single chapter in the the Exquisite Corpse Challenge for 2020 and turn it into it's own story.
> 
> Beautiful banner by the magnificent PaganBaby! 
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/50447883@N08/50695018077/in/dateposted-public/)

~*~

Buffy felt exhausted as she made her way through the hospital’s bright, sterile hallways. She hated hospitals, too many bad things happened in them, things she was helpless to stop. The demons that prowled these halls weren’t anything she could fight. All she could do was pray that the doctors knew what they were doing and her mom was all right, because Buffy wasn’t sure she could take another punch to the gut anytime soon.

Buffy knocked softly on her mom’s door and pushed lightly. The fake smile she’d plastered on her face fell into a scowl as it swung open.

“Ta ever so, Joyce,” said Spike, and from the amusement in his eyes there could be no doubt: the evil vampire and her mother were sharing a private joke. 

As if Buffy didn’t have enough problems! “What the hell are you doing here?” the Slayer demanded, coming the rest of the way into the hospital room. Spike quickly shoved something into his jeans pocket as he stood up from the salmon-pink, faux-leather visitor’s chair.

“Hello, Buffy,” Spike greeted the Slayer in a slow, cautious tone as he turned to face her.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Buffy ground out angrily, stomping into the room like an Imperial Stormtrooper, glaring at him.

“Buffy!” Joyce admonished from next to the vamp. She was sitting up, propped against her pillows and the raised back of the hospital bed. A pinkish blanket that might’ve matched the chair a few hundred washings ago, covered her lower half. She was dressed in a loose-fitting, unflattering blue and white hospital gown, and a wide, white bandage wrapped completely around her head like a hideous headband. “Spike’s been keeping me company – keeping me from losing my mind. And heaven knows, I can’t afford to lose any more if it! He has so many wonderfully entertaining stories.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at the vampire. “Yeah, like how he killed his first Slayer or maybe the slaughter of an orphanage or two? Reliving the glory days?”

Spike’s original civility vanished. He scowled at her and held up a book she hadn’t seen in his right hand. “Was givin’ her the inside scoop on your pal Dracula. Wasn’t all blood and roses like Stoker says, ya know? He’s a right wanker, still owes me…”

“Eleven pounds, so you’ve said,” Buffy scoffed.

“What’s your bleedin’ problem, Slayer?” Spike challenged, slapping the book down on the table next to Joyce’s bed and stalking toward the little blonde with the big chip on her shoulder.

“ _You_. You hanging around with my mom. You hanging around with my sister. _You_! Pretty much _you_ are my problem,” Buffy asserted, standing her ground as the predator approached, prowling forward like a caged tiger, ready to spring.

“That so? Cos, I think you’re blamin’ the sodding messenger. Not my fault soldier boy did a runner,” Spike shot back, his defensive ire growing. The vampire felt her annoyance turn to hurt in an instant, and he regretted the harsh words. Her crossed arms now looked like more of a bandage than a shield, as if she were just trying to hold everything in, keep herself from crumbling.

“Get out of here,” Buffy rasped in a low voice, as she willed the pain back down into the darkness, away from the surface.

Spike clenched his jaw, making the muscles in his cheek twitch. He looked back at Joyce who nodded. There seemed to be some unspoken communication going on between the vampire and her mother, but Buffy had no idea what it might be, and honestly, was just too tired to try and figure it out. To her relief, Spike grabbed his duster from the back of the chair and headed for the door, swinging it on as he went, his heavy boots clomping loudly, echoing down the empty corridor.

Buffy sighed and looked worriedly at her mom, who was giving her a sympathetic look in return. “Are you okay, honey?” Joyce asked, reaching a hand out, inviting her daughter to sit next to her.

Buffy shook her head and stepped up to the bed, taking her mom’s hand in both of hers. “I’m supposed to be asking _you_ that.”

“The doctors say I’m doing well. I’ll be able to come home soon – definitely before Christmas.”

Christmas. Buffy had completely forgotten that it was nearly Christmas, what with her mom’s collapse and the ‘shadow’ on her brain and the operation and Riley’s betrayal and ultimatum and … and ‘doing a runner’, as Spike so eloquently put it. Oh, and let’s not forget finding out her sister was a mystical Key that, she, the Slayer, had to protect from an annoyingly strong woman with a bad perm.

Joyce slid over in the bed and Buffy sat down heavily. “I’m so sorry about Riley, honey,” Joyce said, clasping her free hand over her daughter’s. “But Spike’s right, you can’t take it out on the people around you.”

“He isn’t _people_ , he’s Spike.”

“Buffy,” Joyce admonished again in her best ‘I’ve taught you better manners than that’ voice.

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “What was he even doing here?”

“We’re friends, Buffy. He’s really quite thoughtful and smart and funny—”

“ _Spike_?” Buffy barked incredulously. “He’s a _vampire_ … soulless and … and evil and …”

“Have you actually talked to him? I mean without being rude and just biting his head off? I think you might be surprised,” her mom asserted gently. “He’s visited every night I’ve been here …”

“Because you’re a captive audience for his stupid stories,” Buffy sulked, sounding like a sullen child.

“He brought me flowers…” Joyce continued, waving a hand at a small bouquet of wildflowers in one of those plastic, hospital-issued carafes on the table.

“Which he probably got off a grave.”

“And some magazines…”

“Which he stole from the newsstand.”

The elder Summers sighed. “Here, have a chocolate,” she offered, motioning toward a box on the table next to the book Spike had been humorously dissecting all evening. “Chocolate makes everything better.”

Buffy frowned at the fancy, yet dented, gold box. “It looks like it’s been used as a battering ram. Where’d you get them?” she wondered, leaning over to consider the various shapes of chocolatey-goodness.

“Spike brought them,” Joyce revealed, just as Buffy had bitten into a rich, chocolate-covered caramel one. The Slayer choked. Joyce patted her back until Buffy got her breath back.

“They could be poisoned,” the Slayer pointed out, eyeing the candy suspiciously.

“For heaven’s sake, Buffy, they’re fine,” Joyce assured her, giving her another disbelieving look.

Buffy pulled a face, but popped the second half of the caramel into her mouth. It really was good chocolate. She recognized the box. It came from one of the upscale confectioners in the mall – which meant Spike would’ve had a hard time stealing it, they were all behind glass. Unless they were out of date and he got it out of the dumpster … a distinct possibility.

“He’s worried about you,” Joyce said as Buffy considered having another piece. She didn’t see any coffee grounds or brown, gooey lettuce on the box, which would’ve been a sure sign they’d been scavenged from the garbage.

“Yeah, worried I’ll stake him,” the Slayer asserted bitterly, still trying to decide about the candy. “Which he should be.”

“No, he’s worried about _you_ , about how you’re doing, how you’re feeling, if you’re okay.”

Buffy looked up at her mom, her expression stony. “Well, Spike should’ve thought of that before he showed me—” She stopped, clamping her teeth together. Her mom didn’t know about Riley’s vamp whores, and she had no intention of telling her. It was mortifying enough that Spike knew – knew that Riley had left her bed to go there, knew that she wasn’t enough for Riley. Knew that Riley had been paying vamps to bite him because she didn’t satisfy him. Just like Spike knew she wasn’t enough for Angel, probably with every gory detail of her not-enough-ness detailed for him by Angelus. He even knew about _Parker_. Spike knew she was never enough … never enough for anyone.

“He showed you what?” Joyce asked, eyeing her daughter curiously.

Buffy lost interest in the chocolate and instead gently laid down in the narrow bed, curling against her mother. She shook her head against her mom’s shoulder and closed her eyes against the pain and the tears that threatened to spill. “Nothing. It’s not important,” she croaked out, willing her emotions back down in the depths of that river in Egypt where she liked to drown them. “I’m not really in the mood for Christmas this year. Can we just skip it?” she asked, changing the subject.

Joyce gave her a sad smile, stroking a comforting hand through her daughter’s hair. “Don’t worry about it, honey. Don’t give it another thought.”


	2. Slayer-Colored Glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying this little story (perhaps again, if you read it as a single chapter in the 2020 EC challenge). Still looking for a Christmas Miracle to hit Buffy over the head ...
> 
> Thanks always to Holi117 and Paganbaby -- two wonderful friends and awesome writers -- who beta'd this for me -- before I fiddled. All mistakes are mine.

* * *

On her way home from the hospital, Buffy took the time to notice that all the shops downtown were decked out for the holidays. There were elves and Santas and reindeer in the windows, along with twinkling lights and fake snow. Some stores went for the tasteful all-white, starlight type of lights while others opted for cheery multicolored bulbs. She hugged her coat closed more tightly, wondering how it was the world just kept moving, bustling, readying itself for the joy of the holidays, when her world felt like it was crumbling into darkness. Her mother was sick – the doctors said they’d gotten the tumor, but did they really know? Her sister wasn’t really her sister but a mystical Key that she, Buffy, had to protect from Glory, whatever she was. Strong is what Glory was – way too strong. And her boyfriend hadn’t just left her, he’d left the freaking country! After cheating on her with vampires because … why? Because she didn’t need him enough? What did that even mean?

Buffy stopped in front of a bridal shop and looked at the display. Christmas weddings were clearly the theme, with golden snowflakes, blood-red poinsettias, and snow-queen tiaras. She remembered staring dreamily into this same window just a little over a year ago, planning her spell-induced wedding with Spike when Riley had walked up. What if she had chickened out and never explained anything to Riley? What if she’d just let him keep thinking she was engaged? What if they’d never dated or fell in love or any of it? Then her heart wouldn’t feel so shattered, her dignity so crushed, and she wouldn’t be standing here feeling like a half-deflated balloon drifting aimlessly across a cold, barren sea.

“Know what you’re thinkin’,” came a deep, familiarly annoying voice from behind Buffy. She rolled her eyes, stiffened her back, and turned around.

“Do tell,” she challenged, glaring at Spike.

He took a deep drag on the cigarette in his hand before flicking the butt end away into the deserted street. “Thinkin’ if you don’t let the wankers in, they won’t betray ya, break your heart. No way to live, that,” he advised, stuffing his hands into his duster pockets and sauntering up to her slowly.

“What would you know about it?” she demanded, hating how well he could read her.

“Know enough,” he asserted, stopping just out of punching distance from the Slayer. “Just haven’t found the right bloke, is your trouble. One who’s not afraid of your strength, one who can see how bloody magnificent you are, even when you’re at your worst. One who isn’t blinded by your ...” He almost said ‘effulgence’ but changed to, “light. One that’s loyal and true, who’ll love ya, even when they hate you. One you can’t scare off with deadly fists or deafening shrieks. One that can see through that armor you hoist up all the sodding time to cover the pain, and still doesn’t turn away. Who’ll challenge you, push you to be the best bloody Slayer in history and have your back, no matter what. One who’ll stand up and fight until the end of the sodding world if that’s what it takes to be with you.”

Buffy arched a skeptical brow at him, arms crossed over her heart. “All that, huh?”

Spike shrugged. “Might as well get the full package, luv.”

“And I suppose you know where to find this mythical creature?”

Spike shifted his gaze away from her to look down the empty street, pulling his fags and Zippo out of his pocket. “Can’t find ‘im for you, ducks. Gotta do it yourself. Sometimes, it’s just a matter of taking off your Slayer-colored glasses, dropping the shields, and looking about.”

“Slayer-colored glasses,” Buffy echoed mockingly with a reproving tsk of her tongue. “Has anyone told you how annoyingly unhelpful you are?” she wondered as she turned and began walking again.

“Once or twice,” Spike admitted, falling into step beside her as he lit his cigarette. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“What were you doing with my mother?” she asked then, changing the subject.

“Having a visit. She’s a nice lady; I like her. Sorry for what she’s going through,” he replied sincerely.

“And checking on me – to find out if I’m pissed at you for …” She let her voice trail off.

“Might’ve come up in conversation,” Spike admitted, the grey-blue smoke flowing from his mouth and nostrils as they strolled along the dark, quiet streets. “Didn’t want t’ hurt you, Buffy – wasn’t why I showed you. Just brassed me off to see him doing you that way. Not right. Woman like you, deserves respect – loyalty. Stupid berk didn’t know what he had when it was right in front of him. Those bloody drugs fried his brain, if ya ask me. I did warn him.”

Buffy snorted, trying to sound amused, but tightened her arms around herself protectively. It wasn’t just Riley who had left, was it? And Spike knew it. That awful, mortified feeling surged inside, twisting her stomach in knots. Her armor didn’t work with Spike, because he already knew what was beneath it – her shame and humiliation, her inadequacies and utter failures. She felt flayed open, every flaw, every mistake laid out for inspection and judgement.

_‘No, Mom, I don’t talk to him! He and I are_ not _talking buddies. And this is why! Stupid, annoying vampire sees too much, knows too much!’_

They walked in silence for a while. Spike chain smoking and Buffy with her arms wrapped around her torso, trying to keep all the shards of her heart from spilling out and humiliating herself more.

“So,” Spike began when they’d reached the turn-off that would take Buffy to her house in one direction, and him to his crypt in the other. Buffy blinked and looked around, surprised by where they were.

“Feel like a bit o’ the rough and tumble t’night?” he asked, coming to a stop on the corner and looking at her.

“I … what?” she stammered, her eyes going wide.

“Patrol … you know, vampires? _Grr-argh_ … keeping the world safe for puppies and Christmas?” he clarified.

“Oh, uh … no, not tonight,” she demurred, looking down the street toward home. “Xander’s supposed to be bringing Dawn home soon. I need to be there. You can … you know, feel free to get your, uh, tumble on without me.”

Spike smirked at her. “More fun with two,” he pointed out, hooking his thumbs over his belt buckle and squaring his shoulders.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” she assured him as she began to walk away. She stopped a few feet down the sidewalk and turned back. She was surprised to find Spike still standing there watching her. “What are you doing?”

Spike shrugged. “Just watchin’ your back.”

“Well, stop it. My back is fine,” she contended.

“Bloody right, it is,” he muttered under his breath. “Right – ‘night then,” he said louder as he turned to go toward his crypt.

“Spike,” Buffy called after him.

He stopped and turned back, brows raised.

“Don’t tell my mom about … about what you showed me. About Riley and those … all that stuff.”

He stared at her a few moments, his brows furrowed, head tilted, as if he were trying to decide if he could use this to get something from her – blood, money, a punch in the nose.

“Please,” she added in a small voice as if it physically pained her to say the word. “She doesn’t need to know about … just, please, don’t tell her.”

Spike nodded then. “No worries. Secret’s safe and all that rot.”

Buffy nodded back. “Thanks,” she offered before turning away again and heading for home.

“Welcome,” Spike murmured too low for Buffy to hear. He watched her a few moments before turning away and muttering to himself, “Anything you want, Slayer, it’s yours. Just need t’ ask. _Just sodding ask_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! Thinking I'll update on Tue, Thurs, and Saturday unless I get bored and impatient like a certain vampire we know, and update faster! Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Size Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying this little story (perhaps again, if you read it as a single chapter in the 2020 EC challenge). That Christmas Miracle might be creeping closer, sneaking up on Buffy.
> 
> Thanks always to Holi117 and Paganbaby -- two wonderful friends and awesome writers -- who beta'd this for me -- before I fiddled. All mistakes are mine.

* * *

The next night, Buffy came home from patrol to find a giant Sequoia attacking her house. The huge tree was halfway in her door and clearly trying to get the rest of the way in, but having little luck. It jerked and jolted and shimmied back and forth, its lower branches too wide and stiff to force past the measly three-foot clearance of their front door.

“Hey!” Buffy demanded, hurrying up the walk. “What the hell is going on!?”

“Slayer?”

Buffy pushed past the prickly needles on the lower half of the tree to mount the front porch stairs, but had to stop well short of the blocked door. “Spike?!”

“What’re you doing here?” Spike demanded from inside.

“I live here!” Buffy reminded him. “What are _you_ doing here? With a … a… What the hell is this?”

“It’s a sodding Christmas tree, innit?” he retorted from inside, and the tree shook again, spilling needles all over the porch, but it didn’t make any more progress into the house.

“No! No, it’s not! It’s a … a … giant, green, needle-y demon … it’s a… a Chlorofiend,” she insisted.

“Don’t be sodding daft,” Spike groaned, giving the tree another tug.

“Stop that!” Buffy screamed through clogged door.

She heard Spike sigh heavily and the distinctive sound of his lighter flicking open. “Hey! No smoking in there!” Another put-upon sigh and the lighter flicked closed. “What are you doing? Why are you here? And why are you trying to get a redwood into my house?” she demanded again.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered.

“Spike, I swear to God I’ll...” Buffy threatened.

“Yeah, yeah, stake me good and proper,” he finished for her. She could almost hear him roll his eyes.

“So, you know the tune – now make with the singing.”

There was a defeated sigh from the other side of the tree before he said, “Yer mom wanted a proper Christmas for you and the nibblet … with a tree and what-all. Said I’d get it for her. Was supposed t’ be a surprise. _You_ were supposed to be doing your Slayer-duty for another sodding hour!”

“I hate to tell you this, but it would take more than another hour for you to get this in the house! What did you do, buy the biggest one on the lot?”

“Well … yeah,” Spike admitted, as if ‘ _duh’_! “Bigger’s always better, innit?”

“You’re clearly confusing Christmas trees with penises!” Buffy snarked, only realizing what she said after it was off her tongue. Her eyes went wide, and she clamped a hand over her gaping mouth.

“Am I, then?” Buffy could hear the leer in his voice. “Could put that to the test, if you’d like. Guarantee I’ve got white bread beat … and know Angel’s a bit lacking in that department.”

“Shut up!” Buffy squeaked, her face flushing with heat.

“You brought it up,” he pointed out. “Quite far up, in point of fact.”

“Well now I’m putting it down! And you will too if you know what’s good for you,” she insisted.

Spike sniggered. “Never really got the hang o’ that, if I’m honest – the ‘knowing what’s good for me’ bit.”

“Old dog, meet new tricks,” Buffy growled through the greenery-filled door. “Now, shut up and help me get this out,” she ordered, moving back down the stairs to get hold of the trunk of the tree.

“Maybe a little lube would help. Got any Astroglide under the bed? Or are you a KY girl?” he wondered. “Go in for the flavors or …”

“I swear to God, Spike!” she snarled, yanking on the base of the tree. It shuddered a moment, then moved a little. She pulled harder, imagining she was pulling Spike’s head off – the one on his shoulders! _Not_ the other one! She was _not_ thinking about the other one at all! – and the huge tree came free. Buffy tumbled backwards off the steps, rolled a few feet on the walkway, and came to rest buried under the enormous fir. She was just pushing herself out from the tangle of massive branches when Spike sauntered up to her, his thumbs hooked over his belt buckle, smirking.

“Guess ya didn’t need the lube after all. Good t’ know au naturel works for you.”

Buffy shot him a dirty look and began brushing the prickly needles off her clothes. Spike reached out and plucked one out of her hair. When she didn’t flinch back, he combed his fingers through her long, soft locks under the pretense of dislodging more. Her hair was even softer and silkier beneath his hand than he remembered from their short ‘engagement’. Bloody glorious, like sunshine and summer breezes.

“What’re you doing?” Buffy wondered, jerking her head away from him as she began running her own fingers through it.

Spike stiffened and dropped his hand. “Helping,” he replied petulantly.

“I think you’ve helped enough,” Buffy muttered, gathering her hair into a ponytail, and securing it by a hair band she’d had around her wrist. She surveyed the tree Spike had selected with a critical eye. “Spike, this tree is as tall as that slimy slug demon from last summer!”

Spike did his own assessment and nodded. “Yeah, so?”

“Soooo…” Buffy drawled. “Our ceilings are _not_ as tall as a slug demon! How in the world did you think this would ever fit?”

Spike frowned, then shrugged. “Didn’t think about it … just wanted the best.”

“The biggest isn’t always the best.”

Spike arched a brow at her, a smirk quirking his lips.

“Shut up,” she ordered, another flush rising up her neck to pinken her face adorably. “What are we supposed to do with this?”

Spike considered. “Could set it up in the garden, I reckon.” 

“We could only decorate half of it! I don’t think I could reach the top if I stood on your shoulders,” Buffy pointed out.

Spike pursed his lips, thinking again.

He had really nice lips, Buffy noticed. Soft and full, and they really were great at kissing. He’d kissed her all day during their magical engagement, and each one was just as swoon-worthy as the last. And she’d perched on his lap enough to know he was right about sizes … if she were that shallow to care. Which she absolutely wasn’t. Nope. No caring! Not at all … honest!

“Could cut it off,” he suggested next, jolting Buffy from her thoughts.

“Cut it off?” Buffy squeaked, her eyes darting down to where his fingers framed his fly, then back up to his face.

“ _The tree_. What the bloody hell did ya think I was talking about?”

“I knew that – tree … cut it off … totally knew that.”

Spike made an adjustment in his pants, drawing Buffy’s eye again. “Or could do something else ... test out some sizes …” he suggested cheekily.

Buffy ground her teeth and quickly shifted her gaze away. “So … need a saw. I think Xander left some tools in the basement. I’ll go see what we have,” she volunteered, bolting for the now-clear front door.

Spike smirked after her, enjoying the view. When she’d disappeared into the house he sighed and looked at the tree. He’d ruined the whole sodding surprise. He never even considered they’d have trees that wouldn’t fit in the house – how daft was that? Should go back to the lot and break that berk’s neck ... or, well, give him a stern tongue lashing, at any rate. _Bloody chip!_ Unscrupulous, was what it was, selling rubbish like this to unsuspecting vampires. He sighed in resignation. Well, maybe they could get it set up so it could be a surprise for the nibblet, at least. But he’d really hoped to surprise Buffy, too. He hoped he didn’t bugger up the rest of things Joyce had asked him to do.

Spike looked up as Buffy returned, setting three items down on the ground between them. He furrowed his brow, looking at the tools. “That’s a drill,” he pointed out, nudging one of the things with the toe of his boot.

“Oh.”

“And that’s a grinder,” he continued, moving his foot to the next thing.

“Oh.”

“And that’s a …” Spike tilted his head and studied the third item. “Dunno what that is.”

“Then it might be a saw,” Buffy said hopefully.

“It’s not a sodding saw!” Spike asserted, looking back up at her. “You do know what a saw is, don’cha, Slayer? Is like a sword, only with teeth.”

“I know what a saw is! I just … I didn’t see one.”

Spike sighed and trudged toward the house. “Least I got a tree, not a sodding trumpet! Doing better than you by half.”

Buffy gathered up the tools and hurried after him. “Yeah, well, I don’t think they sell trumpets at the Christmas tree lot, so you had an unfair advantage. Anyway, your tree doesn’t fit, so points off for that!”

“Just a minor detail,” Spike claimed as he opened the door to the basement and started down. “If you’d brought a sodding saw, we’d have it in the house by now, wouldn’t we?”

“If you’d gotten the right size in the first place—”

“I got the best one!”

“You got the _biggest_ one!” Buffy countered.

“Which is the sodding best!”

“Argh! You are so annoying!” the Slayer exclaimed, putting the tools back where she’d found them as Spike looked around for a saw.

“Here!” he announced, showing Buffy.

“That’s not a saw – it’s too …” She held her hands a few inches apart, her fingers rounded, indicating the basic compact, squarish shape of what Spike held. “And there are no teeth!”

“It’s a _circular_ saw,” he explained, pulling back the safety cover and showing the sawblade to her.

She frowned. “Well, that’s no fair, hiding in a shell being all turtle-y.”

“Get me a sodding battery and let’s go. Want to get it in ‘fore the nibblet gets here, anyway.”

Several minutes later, nothing had been cut off the tree. “Are you sure you know how to work that?” Buffy asked as she supervised, arms folded, while Spike tried to get the saw to, well, saw.

“Are you sure the bloody battery was charged?”

“Yes. Are you sure the battery is in right?” she wondered.

“Yessss,” he hissed as he pulled the trigger for the hundredth time and for the hundredth time nothing happened. “This is bollocks. Bloody carpenter-boy leavin’ rubbish tools in yer basement.”

“You are so useless! Let me see it!” Buffy ordered, pulling it from his hands. She squeezed the trigger, then fiddled with the battery and the safety cover, pulled the trigger again, turned it this way, then that, shook it hard enough to be arrested if it had been a toddler, and banged on it with her fist. Nothing happened.

“You were sayin’?” Spike taunted, watching her get more and more frustrated when nothing worked.

“Well, I never said I could work it in the first place!” she defended, shoving it back into his hands. “Can’t you just, you know …” She waved a hand at her face, specifically her mouth. “Get all fangy and gnaw it off or something?”

“Have you gone mental?” Spike barked. “I’m not a sodding beaver, am I? Gnaw on necks … nice, warm, soft necks!”

“Well, you _used_ to. Maybe it’s time to expand your horizons,” Buffy countered.

“Into the burgeoning and lucrative field of vampire lumberjack?” he scoffed derisively.

“Hi guys, whatcha doing?” Dawn asked as she walked up behind them.

Buffy and Spike both jumped and whirled around to face her. They automatically stepped together, shoulder to shoulder, trying to hide the tree. “Nothing … why are you home so early?” Buffy demanded.

Dawn raised her brows, looked at the tree, which was impossible to hide, then back at the two blondes. “It’s nine – you said to be home by eight.”

“You’re late!” Buffy announced. “Go to your room and don’t come out – you’re grounded!”

“What? Only Mom can ground me!” Dawn squeaked indignantly. “What’s going on with the Paul Bunyan tree?”

Buffy and Spike both scowled, their eyes meeting in defeat. There were twin sighs as they stepped apart and revealed the tree, as if they had actually been hiding it. “Supposed t’ be a surprise…” Spike admitted, ducking his head and running his free hand along the back of his neck abashedly.

“He bought us a tree… I think. You did buy it, right?” Buffy wondered suspiciously.

“I bought it! Whaddya think I am? A sodding tree napper now?”

Buffy arched a brow at him, folding her arms over her chest, silently communicating that she wouldn’t put it past him. He rolled his eyes. “I _bought_ the sodding thing. None too cheap, either – considering it’s dead and you lot’ll chuck it out in a fortnight.”

“It won’t fit in the house,” Buffy explained, looking back at Dawn.

“Got the best one.”

“Got the _biggest_ one,” Buffy corrected.

“Biggest is always the best,” Dawn interjected sagely, lifting her chin and flipping her long hair back over one shoulder. “Anya says that all the time. Size definitely matters.”

Spike bounced up on his toes and smirked. “Told ya.”

Buffy huffed out a breath. “We need to find someone else for you to hang around with, Dawn,” she decided, turning back to look at the tree. “Anyway, we’re trying to cut some off it, but can’t get the saw to work.”

Dawn stepped up, looked at the saw and then the tree. “Lemme see,” she requested, reaching for it.

Spike handed it to her.

“It’s bloody rubbish, won’t—”

Dawn pulled the trigger and the blade spun to life with a smooth whirring sound. “You were saying?” she asked, quirking a brow at Spike as she let off the power.

He scowled. “What the sodding hell…”

“Child-proof … you have to push the safety switch at the same time,” she explained, showing him her thumb on the switch. “But this is totally the wrong saw for this. I think a reciprocating saw with a wood blade would be safer and work better.”

Buffy and Spike just stared at her, gobsmacked.

The girl shrugged. “I’ve been hanging out with Xander a lot, too. He always says you need to have the right tool for the job,” she explained before heading for the house.

“And I suspect that is not us,” Spike grumbled.

“Are we just stupid, or what?” Buffy asked as they waited.

“Utter twats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! I can't tell you how much it means to me!
> 
> PS: Did you catch the Dresden Files reference?
> 
> More soon!


	4. Superheroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying this little story (perhaps again, if you read it as a single chapter in the 2020 EC challenge). That Christmas Miracle might be creeping closer, sneaking up on Buffy.
> 
> Thanks always to Holi117 and Paganbaby -- two wonderful friends and awesome writers -- who beta'd this for me -- before I fiddled. All mistakes are mine.

* * *

Buffy and Dawn were sitting on the floor untangling the strings of lights next to the tree as Spike schlepped the last dusty box marked ‘XMAS’ up from the basement. He set it down on the coffee table as the two girls babbled happily and ‘ _Rockin’ ‘Round the Christmas Tree’_ blared from the stereo. There was a roaring fire playing on the telly, which Spike didn’t quite understand. They had a perfectly good fireplace right there, and it wasn’t like they didn’t have half the sodding tree in the yard they could burn, but the Summers ladies seemed happy with the fake crackling and sparking, and lack of actual smoke or heat.

Spike brushed the dust off his jeans and t-shirt as he watched them trying to unsnarl the lights. He quickly decided they were buggering the strands up more rather than less, working at odds with each other, but he didn’t bother pointing that out. No sense having _all_ the Summers’ girls brassed off at him. He backed off and leaned against the doorjamb between the living room and foyer to observe, feeling like one of those wildlife presenters who gets an uncommon glimpse into a previously unknown habit of a rare species.

David Attenborough flitted through Spike’s head, ‘ _Here we see the fearsome and deadly Slayer in her sanctuary with another member of her pack. Unlike the stubborn, bossy bitch we are so accustomed to encountering in the wild, she seems fun-loving, patient, and even gentle with her tribe.’_

Buffy looked up and saw him watching them and her smile faltered, the unguarded sparkle in her eye turning to the stony granite she seemed to save just for him. The moment was over. The bitch was, as they say, back.

“Spike!” Dawn exclaimed happily, a sharp contrast to Buffy’s glare. “Come help.”

“I dunno if—” he began, seeing Buffy’s expression harden even further. He started looking around for his duster. He should just go, leave the sisters to their holiday plight.

Dawn dropped her end of the lights, jumped up and bopped over to him in time with the music, her enthusiasm filling the whole room like golden sunbeams. “C’mon! It’s a Summers’ tradition!”

“He’s not a Summers,” Buffy pointed out dourly, but Dawn ignored her, tugging on Spike’s hand to pull him into the melee by the tree.

“You take my place and I’ll get us some eggnog!” Dawn suggested brightly as Spike let her pull him over to Buffy.

“We don’t have any eggnog,” Buffy declared.

“Sure we do! Janice and I got some – we were experimenting with it over cereal instead of milk. It’s okay with Cap’n Crunch, but not so much with Fruit Loops,” Dawn explained. She gave Spike a meaningful look and shoved him the rest of the way up to Buffy before she headed for the kitchen.

Spike stood there a moment, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, trying to decide what to do.

“Well, you might as well make yourself useful since this is all your fault anyway,” Buffy grumbled, lifting a wad of lights toward him.

“How do you figure that, Slayer?” he wondered, squatting down on his haunches as he took the tangle from her and began trying to find an end. “If you’d take them down and box them up properly, ya wouldn’t have this mess.”

“We _do_ take them down ‘ _properly’_!” Buffy defended, looking up from her work to meet his eyes. “They’re always perfectly neat when we put them in the box. I think there’s a Christmas light demon who lives in the basement and uses them for his love nest all year long, getting them all wadded up by the time Christmas comes around again,” she suggested.

Spike arched a brow at her.

“There could be,” she defended with a pout.

“Could be a Leprechaun who pisses Irish whiskey, shits gold coins, and burps rainbows, too, but, oddly, I’m suspending belief ‘til I see it,” Spike retorted, shifting his position to sit down cross-legged on the floor across from her.

“Shut up,” she grumbled. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant.”

“What’dya mean then?”

“The tree! _You_ bought the stupid tree!” she explained, looking up at the green monster. Even cut off, it was huge. They’d misjudged the first time they’d cut it and the top had rubbed the ceiling when they set it up. There was still a wide, brownish-green skid-mark on the ceiling that they couldn’t scrub off – it kinda looked like poo. That had meant taking the tree-beast down, hauling it back outside, and cutting it again. The only problem was that it had gotten wedged between the floor and the ceiling, and had required Slayer and vampire strength to yank it free. Somehow, in doing that, one of Joyce’s antique vases had tumbled off a shelf and splintered into several distinctly un-vase-like pieces.

“Shit! Look what you did now!” Buffy had cursed accusingly as the tree flopped free.

“Me!? You’re the one who said we’d cut enough off the sodding thing! Not my fault you’re spatially challenged,” Spike barked back.

“It would’ve been fine if you hadn’t wedged it in place like some kind of tree wedger,” Buffy contended. “Mom’s gonna kill us!”

“Guys! Chill!” Dawn had insisted. “I can fix it! Don’t you remember that urn I broke when I was eight? Mom never knew the difference once I’d glued it back together! You just get the tree cut down more and I’ll take care of the vase.”

In the end, Dawn had ‘fixed’ the vase, though Buffy made sure to slide it far to the back of the shelf behind some other knickknacks. They had eventually gotten the tree cut down enough, and finally set up in the corner of the living room.

As Buffy and Spike worked on the rat’s nest of Christmas cheer, Dawn’s voice broke into their conversation, singing along at the top of her lungs to ‘ _Jingle Bell Rock’_ from the kitchen. They looked that way, pausing to listen. From the way the sound wavered, it was clear the girl was dancing as she opened cupboards and retrieved glasses.

Buffy looked back at Spike and he met her gaze. Her expression had softened, looking friendly, almost warm. “Thank you for buying the stupid tree. Dawn’s… she really needed this, something to distract her from… life.”

Spike’s brows shot up. He hadn’t expected that at all. Buffy _thanked_ _him_?! Had he just been transported to some backwards-dimension where up was down and Slayers had some sodding gratitude? He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze, not wanting to spook her back to their normal dimension. “Just Dawn needin’ the distraction?” Spike wondered gently, glancing back up, daring to catch her eyes again.

His head tilted, studying her, his gaze softening into something that resembled actual concern. Which it couldn’t be because evil soulless demon... right? Buffy shrugged and looked back down at the lights in her hand, unable to hold Spike’s penetrating gaze. He always saw too much! “Maybe we both needed it,” she admitted in a soft voice.

“Was yer mum’s idea.”

Buffy nodded and started working on the untangling process again, keeping her eyes down on her work. “I know, still … you didn’t have to do it.” She stopped then, and looked back up at him. “Why did you do it?”

It was Spike’s turn to look down. He shrugged. “Told ya. She’s a nice lady – treats me like …” He stopped and swallowed, then forced himself to look back up and meet the Slayer’s eyes, but only stayed there for a moment before darting away again. “Like a man … not a monster.”

Buffy’s brows furrowed, watching him. He was uncomfortable, maybe even nervous. His hands were fiddling with the lights, but not actually untangling them. She was about to point out that he _was_ a monster when Dawn bounced back into the room with a tray laden with cookies and eggnog.

“Aren’t you guys done yet?” she demanded, trying to sound put-out. “I thought two superheroes working together would be faster than us mere mortals!”

_‘Superheroes? Plural?_ ’ Buffy thought. ‘ _What the hell_? _Dawn thinks_ Spike _is a ‘superhero?’_

“Yeah, well, just shows what you know, Nibblet,” Spike shot back, sliding over to make room for her to put the tray on the floor and sit down with them. “Any brandy in that?” he wondered, reaching for one of the glasses.

Dawn rolled her eyes, sitting down in the spot he’d made for her. “Noooo … Mom’s got some weird idea that kids shouldn’t drink brandy. Crazy, right? Maybe you could talk to her about that.”

Spike smirked. “Sorry, Platelet, never was much with thralls,” he replied easily, passing the glass to Buffy who accepted it with a strange look, but a nod of thanks.

Buffy looked between them – her sister, the mystical Key, and Spike, the monster … superhero … man? Her brows furrowed in confusion. Why did they – Dawn and her mom – see him so differently? He was a monster – not a man, not a superhero. A vampire, an evil, soulless monster with a chip in his head… who bought them a Christmas tree, kept her mom entertained in the hospital, and was sitting here under the tree joking effortlessly with her sister.

“Shoot! Well, I guess we’ll just have to settle for the fun of diabetic comas,” Dawn gushed, lifting her glass. “Cheers!” she toasted.

Buffy shook off her jumbled thoughts and laughed at Dawn’s joke, lifting her glass. Spike took the last one from the tray and did the same. They all clinked together over the mish-mashed wad of lights on the floor between them.

“Cheers,” Buffy and Spike echoed, their eyes meeting a moment before taking sips of the sweet, thick liquid.

“Be better with brandy,” Spike asserted, setting the glass down beside him on the floor.

“Drunkenness probably wouldn’t help us get these lights up,” Buffy pointed out, doing the same with her glass before reaching for a cookie.

“Yeah, but enough would make it so we didn’t bloody care.”

Buffy found herself laughing at his joke along with Dawn as she took a bite of the chocolate chip cookie. Dawn looked happy, happier than she’d been in many days. Maybe, just this once, Buffy could play along with her sister’s strange view of the vampire in their midst. It would be worth it to keep her sister’s mind off everything that was happening with their mom. “Welcome to superhero-dom where the tackling of impossible tasks is completed without the aid of alcoholic beverages.”

“Didn’t know that ‘fore I signed up. Can I turn my white hat back in?” Spike wondered as he began working on the lights again.

“Nope!” Dawn answered immediately, reaching for some of the strings. “You’re stuck with us for life now.”

Spike looked over at Buffy who had an unreadable look on her face. His brows drew together, and he tilted his head in question, trying to suss out what she was thinking.

Buffy shrugged one shoulder and looked down at their task. “You heard her – you’re stuck. I guess you’re one of us now. So, get to work and make yourself useful before I change my mind and stake you.”

Spike snorted. “There’s the Slayer I know and love,” he teased. He froze, realizing what he’d said, clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip, but it was much too late, the words were out. He glanced up at Buffy through his lashes, not lifting his head. She had stopped working and was looking at him with a confused expression. “Love to hate, meant t’ say … love to hate,” Spike amended lamely, going back to fiddling with the knot of lights.

Buffy cleared her throat and did the same.

Dawn rolled her eyes. How could Buffy not see the hot hunk of vampire swooning all over her? Dawn would give her eye teeth – whatever they were – to have Spike look at _her_ that way. But Spike would never see her as more than his little nibblet. He only had eyes for Buffy, and her sister was too stupid to even notice.

“Ha!” Dawn announced after a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence. “I win!” she gloated, holding up her distinctly untangled strand of lights when the other two looked up at her. “Let’s get this party started!” the girl exclaimed, jumping up to begin stringing them around the tree.

“I guess we aren’t very good superheroes,” Buffy joked, holding up her jumble of twisted wires.

“I blame it on the disturbing lack o’ brandy,” Spike excused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! I can't tell you how much it means to me!  
> More soon!


	5. Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every one of you! Knowing the story is being enjoyed is like Hersey's Kisses for my muse.

* * *

It took some doing, but the less-massive-than-it-used-to-be tree was finally bedazzled in twinkling lights and sparkling strands of garland, which reflected the dancing colors of the tiny bulbs, adding to its cheerfulness. Everything went smoothly after they tamed the demon-tangled lights. They’d opened all the boxes and had them spread out in a semi-circle around the tree so they could add the decorations in the proper order. Spike hadn’t realized there _was_ a proper order, but Dawn had explained it all to him with the air of a brainiac tutoring a hopelessly lost jock on the intricacies, and joys, of calculus.

Spike stole glances at Buffy as Dawn went on about lights going on first, then the strands of garland, then the larger ornaments, then the box of ornaments marked, ‘If you break these you will die’, then the box of homemade ornaments. Buffy had a small smile on her lips, apparently enjoying watching Dawn lecture Spike in her eager, animated way. Buffy with a smile was preferable to the Buffy he normally dealt with, so Spike absorbed the lecture with as much gravity as it was delivered, just in case there was an exam later... and to keep the Slayer smiling.

However, Spike balked at the lesson when a string of fake popcorn was pulled out of one of the boxes to be added.

“What’s wrong with _actual_ popcorn?” he wondered, eying the plastic version disdainfully.

“What do you mean, ‘actual popcorn’?” Dawn wondered, frowning.

Spike rolled his eyes. What were they teaching the tots these days? Certainly not the important things! “Ya take popcorn and string it with a needle and thread... add in some cranberries if ya like, for color. When ya toss the tree out, just leave it on for the birds and whatnot t’ snack on. Helps ‘em through the long winter months, yeah?”

Dawn’s eyes went wide with excitement as she turned to Buffy. “Can we do that? Let’s do that!”

Buffy rolled her eyes before turning to Spike. The smile was gone, Slayer death glare back in place. “We’re in California. The birds don’t need help through the ‘long winter months.’ We have perfectly good plastic popcorn already strung and everything! Some little plasticine elf worked their little fingers to the bone making it just for us.”

“Plasticine elves don’t _have_ bones,” Dawn pointed out sagely. “C’mon, Buffy, it’ll be fun!” she insisted eagerly, bouncing on her toes. “I’ll make the popcorn – you find the needles and thread,” the girl ordered, before capering off toward the kitchen.

When Buffy sighed and her shoulders slumped in defeat, Spike turned away with a victorious grin. Stringing sodding popcorn would take ages! And that meant he wouldn’t have to leave for ages. Sometimes his plans were bleeding brilliant.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

As it turned out, Buffy couldn’t find a needle or thread. The Summers house didn’t seem to have any sewing supplies at all ... or so the Slayer said. So much for Spike’s plan. _Bugger_. Still, the popcorn didn’t go to waste, they snacked on it as they continued decorating the tree, stopping periodically, at Dawn’s discretion, for popcorn catching contests. These entailed one person tossing a kernel to another; the receiver had to catch it in their mouths, not using their hands. Each time they caught one, they’d have to step back further and further until they missed. Spike usually won these, though Buffy was close on his heels. Dawn was abysmal at it, but she was laughing the whole time, so that was a bit of all right.

Even Buffy was laughing and jeering good naturedly when it was Spike’s turn, trying to make him miss while Dawn tossed the kernels. When it was Buffy’s turn to throw, she used Slayer strength, hurtling them at him as if they were stakes; not that he cut her any slack when their positions were reversed, of course. Soon there was as much popcorn on the floor as there was in their bellies, but it had served to lighten Buffy up considerably. A good competition always seemed to put her into a better mood. Spike even let her win a few rounds, just to make sure she stayed that way.

Eventually, the fake popcorn garland was festooned upon the tree, along with what felt like dozens of vintage glass ornaments that Spike assumed were from Joyce’s childhood. They were down to the last couple of dusty boxes now, the current one held ornaments from Buffy and Dawn’s early years.

“Dawn’s first Christmas,” Spike read off, handing a shiny pink ornament in the shape of a baby rattle to the girl. Dawn took it fondly, spent a moment straightening the bow around the handle, then hung it front and center about midway up the tree.

Buffy watched her sister as Spike continued to hand out ornaments from one of the boxes for them to place on the tree. The monks had certainly thought of everything. Buffy even remembered that Christmas. She could clearly recall going to the mall and helping her mom pick out the ornament then wait for it to be customized with Dawn’s name. And yet she knew none of it actually happened. It was wig-worthy.

“Promenade Ice Chalet – Buffy Summers – 1990,” Spike read off another ornament. This one was a pair of glittery silver ice skates which appeared to be dangling from their laces.

“Yeah, didn’t ya know?” Dawn expounded. “Buffy was gonna be the next Dorothy Hamill.”

Spike arched a brow at the Slayer and handed it over to her. Buffy rolled her eyes. “I was nine,” she excused, hanging the skates off to the side and toward the back, out of view.

“Did you wear those little skirts that’d flare out when ya spin and show your knickers?” Spike wondered, smirking at her.

Another eye roll from Buffy. “Of course – I was _nine_ ,” she repeated.

“Still got any of those skirts?”

“What part of _‘I was nine’_ don’t you understand?”

Spike’s smirk grew more lecherous. “If I got ya one o’ those skirts, do ya reckon I could get a proper demo of that move?”

“Just hand over the ornaments!” Buffy ordered, trying to reach past him into the box.

“Keep yer knickers on!” Spike groused, pushing her hand away. “You’ll need ‘em for that twirly thing…”

“You’re just begging to get staked,” Buffy warned, glaring at him, but he could tell it was more put-on than real, her good mood still hanging on.

“Sing me a new one, Slayer, you’re wearing out the jukebox with that one,” he replied, reaching in to pull out another ornament. “What the bloody hell is that?” he shrilled, his voice rising a few octaves, his eyes wide with horror, as he held up the next decoration.

It looked vaguely like a gingerbread man, but one arm was gone, the stump painted blood-red. Its eyes were bright yellow and looked deranged, and blood dripped from his mouth, which was open in a sinister smile and showed a set of white, jagged teeth inside.

“Buffy made it,” Dawn explained dryly. “Here’s mine,” the girl continued, pulling out a very happy, un-bloody, untoothed gingerbread man from the box and holding it up.

Buffy grabbed the demonic ornament from Spike’s hand. “I told mom I didn’t want to make stupid decorations that year,” the Slayer complained, frowning down at her creation. She couldn’t remember if she’d actually made it or if this was another planted memory from the monks, which just made it that much creepier.

“Buffy was _too old_ for making ornaments,” Dawn mocked in a sing-song voice. “Mom made her.”

Spike’s brows came together as he watched Buffy. “How old were ya?” he wondered in a gentle voice.

“Fourteen,” Buffy admitted, looking up at the vampire. “I… was having these dreams…” She shrugged and made to toss the ornament back into the box, but Spike caught it in midair.

“Before you were Called?” he clarified.

Buffy nodded again, her eyes shifting uncomfortably away from his. The dreams, she knew for a fact, were very real.

Spike took a good look at the ornament, then back up at Buffy. “It’s a vampire, yeah?”

Buffy met his eyes and gave a jerky nod. “Yeah…” she admitted solemnly. “I didn’t know it at the time, but… yeah, I think that’s what it is... or maybe a dreaded Gingerbread Demon.”

Spike gave her a skeptical look.

She shrugged. “Vampire,” Buffy acquiesced. “Mom just thought I was being bratty, but it was all I could see... all I could think about. It felt like there were monsters everywhere.”

“Must’a been hard … going through that, not knowing what was happening,” Spike offered sincerely, feeling unaccountably sorry for the young girl that had created the demonic Christmas ornament. At the same time, he felt privileged to be given this small glimpse behind the Slayer-curtain, even if it didn’t last long. Those glimpses were few and far between for him, and he treasured each one she deigned to share.

Buffy gave him a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, well… that’s the life of a superhero without brandy.”

And the moment was over. Spike snorted and turned away from the Slayer. He pretended to put the Christmas vampire back in the box, but surreptitiously pocketed it. “Let’s see, what else have we got, then…” he mused, reaching for another treasured ornament. “Last one… looks like the ever-popular clothes peg reindeer,” he announced.

“Mine!” Dawn trilled, reaching for it with glee and giving it a front and center spot on the tree.

“Too bad she’s so timid and insecure,” Buffy teased, backing up to check out the overall effect before stepping back in to adjust a bit of garland and move an ornament to fill a blank spot.

“There’s another box,” Spike pointed out, moving the empty one away and grabbing the last box.

“The topper,” Dawn explained, pulling the folded flaps of the box open as Spike held it. “Angel or star this year?” she asked, holding both up.

“Star,” Buffy and Spike both replied in one voice.

Their eyes met. Spike was afraid he’d see anger or disdain in her expression – heaven forbid he speak ill of her perfect Angel, or even imply it – but Buffy seemed amused.

Spike gave her a sheepish grin. “Guess there are things we can agree on, then, eh, Slayer?”

“Must be some kind of Christmas miracle,” Buffy suggested before turning to steady Dawn on the ladder as the girl placed the glittering star atop the tree.

Spike let his eyes slip over the Slayer’s shapely figure when she turned away, appreciating the way her lithe body stretched and twisted while keeping her sister steady. A swath of golden skin peeked out along her waist where her shirt rode up when she lifted her arms. He yearned to feather his fingertips over her sun-kissed skin, to drown in the soft warmth of her, to feel her quiver as he trailed kisses from hipbone to hipbone. He knew that one miracle from Father Christmas was more than he had any right to, but he couldn’t help but hope for more.

* * *

Because this chapter is short, I made a little moodboard kind of thing for you to enjoy. Also, next time you see the banner for this story, pay attention to the ornaments on Buffy's tree.

If you've downloaded this story and can't see the picture, you can find it at this link:[ https://flic.kr/p/2khzyhf](https://flic.kr/p/2khzyhf)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/50447883@N08/50727082358/in/dateposted-public/)


	6. So Screwed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every one of you! Knowing the story is being enjoyed is like Christmas Cookies for my muse.
> 
> Thanks to PaganBaby and Holi117 for their beta assistance, though I've fiddled so much it's hardly the same chapter they originally looked at, so, of course, all errors are mine. LMK if you spot one and I'll fix it!

* * *

“I forget how much I love watching Christmas lights,” Buffy admitted later as she and Spike sat on the sofa in the dark. She was curled up in one corner, her legs pulled up under her. Spike was sitting on the other end, sprawled casually, turned half to face her. Dawn had been between them, but she’d gone up to bed, leaving the two blondes alone. An empty pizza box was on the coffee table in front of them from their late-night, ‘the-tree-is-up’ celebratory dinner. Popcorn was still strewn across the floor, but Buffy had decided that could wait for tomorrow. The only lights in the house came from the Christmas tree in the corner.

“Well, thank the bloody devil for Dawn, then,” Spike teased. “Only one of us who could get the sodding things sorted.”

Buffy chuckled softly, her eyes glued to the dancing lights of the tree. “Did you… did you have Christmas… you know, before?”

“Yeah, had Christmas. Was my mum’s favorite time o’ year. Lights were a lot bloody easier than these, can tell you,” he replied.

Buffy considered that. Spike had a mom. And she liked Christmas. How freaking weird was that? Spike had a mom! Well, she supposed, technically, _William_ had a mom. Of course, Buffy knew he would’ve had a mom, but it’s just hard to think of vampires as having mothers. It was dangerous, too. Slayers couldn’t think about things like that – vampires were monsters; thinking otherwise could be deadly. _‘Slayer-colored glasses.’_ Buffy’s brows furrowed as the rest of what he’d said registered, and she looked over at him. “Easier lights? Really? Maybe we should get some of those,” she suggested.

“Could do. Candles… used sodding candles.”

“On the _tree_?” Buffy squeaked, her voice rising in disbelief. “You’re just making shit up now.”

Spike raised his right hand. “Swear on m’ life.”

“You’re dead.”

Spike shrugged. “Were a damn sight faster t’ get up than these twinkly contraptions. Only thing ya had to worry about was setting the whole bleedin’ house alight,” he explained, giving her a sardonic smile.

“Oh, well, if that’s all…” Buffy mocked, shaking her head and looking back at the glittering tree. She grew quiet for a minute or so, then said, “When I was a little girl, I used to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night and just sit next to the tree watching the lights twinkle. It was like… magical. It felt like… I don’t know, a different world or something. A bubble where everything was just color and light and nothing bad ever happened.”

“Wasn’t your fault… what Finn did. Was him, not you,” Spike assured her gently.

Buffy turned to look at him, her face hardening, her gaze cold chips of granite. “I didn’t say anything about Riley.”

“Was what you were thinking. Want to escape into the colors now, yeah? Just like when you were a bit.”

Buffy scowled at him. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Read my fucking mind!”

“Not reading your mind, just… know you.”

“You don’t know me,” she insisted with a huff.

“Sure I do… same as me, you are.”

“Oh, _please_! We are nothing alike!”

“Hard shell on the outside protecting all the vulnerable, squishy bits inside.”

“So, you’re saying we’re Tootsie Pops,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Spike smirked. “Could be fun finding out how many licks it takes…”

“Finish that and die,” Buffy grumbled, sorry she’d made the comparison, though her face flushed with warmth.

Spike snorted. “Just saying, been hurt, you and me. Got shields up, don’t we? Try to keep all the soft bits from getting chewed up and spit out. Easier to keep people out. Anyone gets close enough to hurt us, we lash out – get angry, or start a row, start building that wall back up, pushing them away, blocking them out. Takes a special person to hang on when that happens, to let us thrash and fight before we finally let ‘em set up house on the other side.”

Buffy blinked back moisture that suddenly appeared in her eyes and turned back to the tree. The colors all blurred and swirled together, and she closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling. “I let Angel in…” she admitted. “I didn’t even know I needed walls back then.”

“And he dug the dagger in good and proper, didn’t he?” If Spike reached out, he’d be able to touch her, but she’d stop talking, and he didn’t want her to ever stop talking. When she stopped, he’d have to leave, and he never wanted to leave. She’d softened as the night had gone on, letting him in just that little bit, and he’d do anything to hold on to the crumb she’d thrown him, the glimpses of the woman she tried to keep hidden from everyone, especially him.

Buffy nodded, her eyes still closed, her throat too tight to speak.

“He’s a wanker. Couldn’t love you properly – ran off like a bloody coward,” Spike contended.

“He said he did it for me… so I could be… happy... normal,” Buffy rasped.

“Yeah, well, always was a daft bugger, wasn’t he? What did he reckon you’d do, marry a shoe salesman, have 2.5 sprogs, a dog, and a minivan? Think you’d grow old and die in your sleep surrounded by all your spoiled, fat grandchildren? You aren’t _normal_. You’re the _Slayer_. Hate to tell you this, ducks, but that’s not the life of a Slayer. ‘ _Normal’_ doesn’t work for you. Think you found that out with Soldier Boy.”

Buffy worried her lip with her teeth, hating how brutally Spike had summed it all up, hating that he was right. “I used to wish for a normal life so many times after I was Called,” she admitted in a small voice. “But I know that’ll never happen.”

“Normal is sodding overrated,” Spike contended. “And it’s not why Peaches scarpered. He’s not that bloody noble.”

“And you know him so well,” she scoffed defensively.

Spike grunted. “A sight better than you, I’d wager. Traveled about with him for twenty years, didn’t I? Longer than you’ve even been alive.”

“That was Angelus, not Angel,” Buffy pointed out.

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Spike asserted. “Putting a leash on the demon doesn’t change the man underneath. Liam never was what you’d call gallant.”

Buffy wanted to argue with him, tell him he didn’t know anything about Liam, but Angel’s words from two Christmases ago came back to her and kept her silent, _‘Look, I'm weak. I've never been anything else. It's not the demon in me that needs killing, Buffy. It's the man.’_ Angel never explained what that had meant. He never talked about his human life at all. Sharing about his past wasn’t part of his repertoire... actually, she had to admit, sharing _anything_ about himself wasn’t high on his list of talents. 

Unable to come to Angel’s defense, she went on the offense. “I suppose William was some kind of saint before you started shoving spikes through people’s brains?” she hissed, scowling.

“Noooo,” he drawled. “But I wasn’t a bloody drunkard lay-about who thought the only good virgin was a deflowered one,” he defended testily.

“I thought you’d ‘ _always been bad’_ ,” Buffy reminded him haughtily, turning her glinting green eyes on him.

_‘Bugger_.’ Spike ducked his head and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck reticently. “Yeah, well... might’ve exaggerated that a bit,” he admitted.

When Buffy rolled her eyes and looked away, Spike could see he was losing her, she was closing down. He changed tacks, getting back to the point. “Not about me, is it? About you and Angel. And Angel... _Liam_ was afraid of your light, your goodness. He could understand the Slayer bits – the parts that live in the dark. Demon and the man, both right cozy in the shadows. But the girl… the _woman_ who is sunshine and sandcastles, that terrified him. Knew he could never hope to understand that part of you, to touch it. Made him afraid to fight for you.”

Buffy stayed silent for several long moments after he finished, her eyes falling closed. Spike let her tumble all that around in her pretty little head. A head he knew had more brains and reason and logic than she typically showed the world. She may not like what he was saying, but if she’d just think about it a bloody minute instead’a doing a knee-jerk jump to the Great Forehead’s defense, she’d know he was right.

“Maybe I’m not worth fighting for,” Buffy suggested finally, blinking her shimmering eyes open and glancing over at the vampire.

“Bollocks,” Spike declared, leaning forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs.

“Wasn’t just Angel. Riley didn’t think so either,” Buffy reminded him. Why was she doing this? What was she even talking to him about any of this? She realized with a start that she couldn’t talk to anyone else about it. Not Willow, not her mom, certainly not Giles or Xander. None of them could understand what it was like for her, what it was like to be the Slayer... to be a Slayer with an ooey-gooey center that had been stomped on too many times. But for whatever reason, Spike did. He’d always had this uncanny way of looking right through her defenses and seeing her. Big, peroxided jerk. She wished he’d just stop doing that; it was disconcerting. It gave him too much power. Power to hurt her, to sneak beneath her shields and slash at her insecurities.

“Finn wasn’t any better than Peaches – never could understand you, Buffy,” Spike asserted earnestly. “Captain Cardboard wanted the girl – truth be told, he wanted a bloody damsel in need of saving. Couldn’t handle the Slayer, not your strength or your independence, giant insecure git that he was. Thought he could suss out your Slayer bits by going to those vamps in the brothel, find what it is that drives your darker side. But it’s not in him – he could never touch your darkness, couldn’t handle your strength, just like Angel couldn’t touch your light.”

Buffy looked at him blankly, shaking her head in consternation. What the hell was he doing? Why wasn’t he driving the sword into her heart? Why wasn’t he taking her ill-advised confessions and strangling her with them? Instead he was... what? Blaming Angel and Riley? Defending her?

Spike sighed and shifted closer to her, misunderstanding her look. His eyes locked with hers in the low light as he continued speaking earnestly, “You live a good bit of your life in the dark, pet, fighting evil, keeping the monsters back. Part of that is inside you, driving your Calling. But there’s more to you than that. There’s a light inside you. It’s blinding… bloody glorious… you glow with it. Met a few Slayers in my day, and none of ‘em had your radiance, they let the darkness consume them. But not you. Got your friends, your sis and mum, they help keep part of you basking in sunbeams. You’re bloody effulgent, Buffy. You need someone who’s not afraid of your darkness or your light, pet. Someone who can touch them both without fear of getting burned. Wasn’t Finn. Wasn’t Angel.”

“Did you just insult me? What’s ‘effulgent’ mean? It sounds... dirty.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Means bright, shining.”

“I don’t feel very bright and shiny,” she admitted sulkily, lowering her eyes from his too-intense gaze, giving up on trying to figure out his game. It must be a game, right? But to what end? 

“Yeah, well, just gonna have to take my word for it, then,” Spike replied, giving her smirk.

“Why should I?” she wondered, looking back up at him. “Already admitted you’re a liar, Mr. Always Been Bad.”

“Not lying about this and you know it. You and me, neither of us are exactly normal, luv. Both need someone who’s not afraid of our different sides, who’ll stick with us when we build up the walls cos they know what’s on the other side is worth fighting for.”

Buffy wanted to point out that she was _nothing_ like him. That Spike only had one side – evil, soulless vampire – but her stupid brain wouldn’t let the words come out. It just kept showing her pictures of him doing things that were all with anti-soullessness. Things that had nothing to do with the chip. Like visiting her mom in the hospital, keeping her entertained with his stupid stories, and bringing her flowers and chocolates – even if they were stolen. Spending time with Dawn, teasing her and joking with her, making her feel special and _seen_ – things a favorite uncle might do. Proving to Tara that she wasn’t a demon in front of her screwed-up family – even if it did involve hitting the shy witch. Picking out the biggest tree in the lot because he thought it was the best, not for himself, but for them. Helping to untangle the lights and decorate the tree. Even taking her to that vamp brothel, showing her what Riley was doing. She believed Spike when he’d said he didn’t do it to hurt her. In his own quirky way Buffy supposed he’d been protecting her. And now, sitting here, assuring her, telling her she was bright and shiny like a new penny... even if she did live in the dark.

Buffy shook her head again and sighed. It was all too confusing. Spike was too confusing.

“So, you’re looking for that mythical creature, too?” she wondered after a few moments. “Who’ll love you even when they hate you, who doesn’t scare easily, who’ll fight to the end of the world for you?”

Spike gave her a reticent smile. “Yeah, I reckon I am,” he admitted, his gaze intent, sparkling with the shifting lights.

Buffy snorted and looked back at the tree. “We are so screwed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Spike getting through to Buffy? We’ll have to wait and see!  
> More soon!


	7. Superheroes with Brandy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every one of you! Knowing the story is being enjoyed is like eggnog for my muse, with brandy, of course!
> 
> Thanks to PaganBaby and Holi117 for their beta assistance, though I've fiddled so much it's hardly the same chapter they originally looked at, so, of course, all errors are mine. LMK if you spot one and I'll fix it!

* * *

After their talk in the lights of the Christmas tree a couple of nights ago, Buffy hadn’t exactly avoided Spike, but she hadn’t sought him out, either. She told herself it was because she was too busy getting the house cleaned up so it would be spic-and-span for her mom to come home to, and then there was the actual process of getting Joyce home from the hospital and making sure she took it easy.

In truth, Spike had left Buffy’s mind scrambled and her heart squirming like a bug under a magnifying glass. He’d left that night without shoving the dagger in, even though he must’ve known how easy it would’ve been to do. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, after all. When he’d caught her trailing along behind Parker like a kicked puppy, Spike had inexplicably, and yet predictably, figured it all out, seemingly in the blink of an eye and went for the emotional kill...

_‘Did he play the sensitive lad and get you to seduce him? That's a good trick if the girl's thick enough to buy it. I wonder what went wrong. Were you too strong? Did you bruise the boy? Whatever. I guess you're not worth a second go. Come to think of it seems like someone told me that. Who was it? Oh, yeah. Angel.’_

But not this time. It left her confused and vulnerable, and just not sure what to do. When Spike attacked, she knew exactly what to do, but when he was nice, understanding, even compassionate, what the hell was she supposed to do with that?

But now she had no choice but to go see the annoyingly perceptive, and utterly confusing, vampire. Buffy shifted the festively wrapped gift to her left hand and knocked on Spike’s crypt door. She wasn’t in the habit of knocking – usually she just kicked the thing open and stormed in. But this time she was on a ‘mom-mission’, not a ‘Slayer-mission’, so, she knocked.

After Joyce had come home from the hospital and gotten settled, she’d asked Buffy to let Spike know so he didn’t go up there looking for her. Bringing a gift had been her mom’s idea – in thanks for Spike getting the tree – but Buffy had picked it out. Buffy thought she deserved a sainthood, or at least a gift of her own, for helping the exasperating vampire get the stupid redwood into the house, but she didn’t want to tell her mom what a hassle it had been. Joyce needed rest and relaxation now, and bitching about Spike getting a tree big enough for Rockefeller Center wouldn’t help.

“Told ya before,” came the familiar voice from inside the crypt. “If your Girl Scout cookies aren’t made of actual Girl Scouts, then bugger off!”

“Spike, it’s me!” Buffy called through the door. She started to push it open, but was stopped short when the vampire suddenly appeared, blocking her path. “Hey!” she exclaimed in surprise, jumping back as he shimmied through the narrow opening and pulled the door closed behind himself.

“Slayer! Bit busy at the mo’. Whaddya need?” he asked breathlessly.

“I came to tell you—” Buffy began to answer automatically before her ‘WTF?’ radar kicked in. “Busy doing what?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You know… stuff… chipped vampire stuff… all very… boring,” Spike stammered, shifting from foot to foot as his eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at her. “Nice chat – see ya, then,” he added quickly, turning to go back into the crypt.

Buffy, of course, was having none of that. She knew exactly how to handle this type of behavior from the bleached wonder. When he turned, she shoved him hard in the back. Spike’s nose banged on the heavy door and he cursed in pain before it gave way and opened.

“Oi! Didn’t invite you in!” he complained, one hand clamped to his nose, the other trying to grab the edge of the door to keep it from swinging fully open.

“Think you’re confused. You vampire. Me Slayer. No invite needed,” Buffy pointed out, pushing him in the back again and sending him stumbling forward.

Spike caught himself on his comfy chair and spun around, holding one hand up in surrender, the other still clamped over his bruised nose. He felt a stab of disappointment in his gut that eclipsed the pain in his nose. Apparently, all the walls she’d let down the other night were firmly back in place, and covered in razor-wire. The Slayer was back in all her glory. Not that Spike didn’t appreciate the glory of this golden Slayer, but he’d half-hoped things might’ve changed between them after their talk about Angel and Riley and effulgence. She’d given him more than crumbs under the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree, treating him like a friend, or at least not an enemy, actually listening to him instead of running roughshod over his every word. Whatever camaraderie they’d shared seemed to have been burned away by the dawn, like mist from the still surface of a mountain lake.

“Don’t be gettin all stake-happy – I can explain,” Spike asserted as Buffy followed him into the spacious (for a crypt) room.

The Slayer’s brows furrowed as she glanced around. It looked like one of those gift-wrapping booths at the mall had been torn apart by a particularly hostile, Christmas-adverse troll. Maybe Santa left coal in its stockings instead of nice, plump babies. There was Christmas-themed wrapping paper strewn everywhere – big pieces, small pieces, crumpled pieces, mangled pieces, and flat pieces. Atop all that were ribbons in a rainbow of colors and styles. Some rolls of gift wrap, which had somehow survived the carnage, were atop the stone sarcophagus, along with a Scotch tape dispenser, scissors, and a stack of empty, generic gift boxes. Piled in the large alcove in the wall were wrapped gifts, though they looked like they’d been wrapped by a particularly dim five-year-old baboon. Scattered around within the sea of discarded wrapping paper were a plethora of shopping bags Buffy recognized as being from the mall or the shops downtown.

“What… why… what…?” Buffy stuttered, shaking her head to organize her jumbled thoughts. “What the hell is going on here?” she demanded finally, her hard gaze settling back on the vampire.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Spike assured her, lifting both hands as if she were holding a gun on him.

“It looks like you’re playing Santa to Dawn,” Buffy retorted, raising her brows in question. She could see bags from at least four shops that Dawn frequented and had on her Christmas list.

“Oh, well… yeah, I reckon it is what it looks like, then,” Spike agreed with a sigh. He checked his nose for blood, but didn’t find any, and since Buffy didn’t seem about to shoot him, he lowered his hands. “Not just the bit, you too, as it turns out.”

“Me? What…? You stole all this for—”

“Didn’t steal!” Spike corrected immediately, moving over to pick up an envelope and pulling out all the receipts to show her. Something else fell out with the till receipts, fluttering to the floor at Spike’s feet. Buffy recognized it as the item Spike had tucked into his pocket at the hospital when she’d walked in on him talking with her mom a few days ago.

Buffy dove on it, scooping it up as Spike lurched back with a yip, thinking he’d misread her, and she was attacking. Buffy moved over closer to a bank of candles to examine her prize. She set Spike’s gift down with the other wrapped boxes and opened the folded piece of paper. Her mother’s credit card dropped out of it. She whirled on him. “You bastard! You stole my mom’s—!”

“Didn’t sodding steal it! Take off your bloody Slayer-hat and listen for once!” Spike demanded, as he began pacing back and forth, kicking the cheerful detritus from his path, and running a hand back through his hair. He’d buggered it up again! Well, no sense lying about it. Couldn’t stuff the prize back in the cracker after it’d been popped.

“Yer mum asked me t’ help her with the shopping for you lot. Knew she couldn’t get it done, what with the hole in her skull and all. Wanted to make a nice Christmas for you and the bit. Wanted it to be a surprise.”

Buffy looked up at him skeptically. “And what are you getting out of it? What else did you use this credit card for? Blood? Cigarettes? Beer? The Hope Diamond?” she challenged.

Spike flung his arms out, bringing his frenetic pacing to a halt as he faced her. “Nothing! Why don’t you get it?! Know I’m speaking the Queen’s sodding English, but even you should be able to suss it out. Was just trying t’ help yer mum out. Make a nice Christmas for you ungrateful lot!”

“Why?”

Spike rolled not just his eyes but his entire face to the ceiling, gritting his teeth. “Because we’re _friends –_ your mum and me,” he insisted through his clenched jaw. He looked back at her. “Why is that so bloody hard for you to understand? If you’d take off those Slayer-colored glasses for one bloody minute...”

Buffy scowled at him. Spike was acting so weird. She ran back over their recent conversations, the ones that left her so befuddled. He knew all her failures, seemed to be able to see right through her defenses, and yet, the other night he’d blamed her failed relationships, not on her not-enoughness, but on the men in her life. He’d even defended her – told her flat-out Riley and Angel leaving was due to their shortcomings, not hers. He’d said she was glorious… and glowy and… dark.

She’d thought about that a long time after he’d left and over the last couple of days while she vacuumed up popcorn and dusted and mopped – like, a lot! As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She tried to be bright and shiny all the time, but there were times when she was dark and deadly, and she _liked it_. She even needed it. Riley just wanted her bright and shiny. Angel just wanted her dark and deadly. Would anyone ever want both sides of her? Could anyone handle the whole package that was Buffy, the Vampire Slayer?

Buffy sighed, just as confused as ever, and brought her attention back to the matter at hand. “How did you even know what to get?” she wondered.

“Look at the bloody note – it’s a shopping list, yeah?” he pleaded, waving a hand at the paper she’d started to unfold.

Buffy looked down at the paper, unfolding it the rest of the way. He was right. It was a shopping list in her mom’s writing with the names of stores and descriptions of what she wanted from each, including sizes and colors, and if it was for Buffy or Dawn.

The Slayer looked back up at the vampire who was standing with his hands on his hips, clearly waiting for an apology. “You went Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah.”

“At the mall?”

“Yeah.”

“You went into Bath and Body Works?”

“Yeah. Had to stop breathin’ in there… bloody place stinks like a Seplasium demon.”

“And to Macy’s and Anthropologie and 5-7-9? You picked out clothes for me and Dawn from these descriptions?” she continued incredulously, waving the paper around.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Wasn’t sure on some which one she meant – like the blue jumper at Forever 21 – had to use my judgment, didn’t I?”

“That’s possibly the scariest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Buffy mocked, rolling her eyes.

“Ha bloody ha,” Spike groused. “Reckon you’ll eat those words, Slayer. Got a brilliant sense o’ style, I do.”

“I can tell by the whole ‘stuck in the eighties’ look,” Buffy retorted, as she started looking through the remaining shopping bags that littered the area.

“Oi! No peeking! Supposed t’ be a surprise, innit?” Spike insisted as he began gathering up the bags himself, keeping her from nosing through them.

“I hate to tell you this, but that bridge has sailed and sunk. It’s now a reef off Catalina,” Buffy noted, looking around at the bright, cheery disaster area. “Also, no Santa’s elf would be caught dead delivering packages that look like that,” she pointed out, waving a hand at the wrapped gifts.

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” Spike pouted, moving over closer to the pile of presents.

“What’s _not_ wrong with them?” Buffy replied, picking one up. “Have you ever actually _seen_ a wrapped gift before?”

Spike frowned. “Seen ‘em… in shop windows and on the telly…” he admitted sheepishly.

“And do these have any resemblance to those? Did those have all these wrinkles in the paper? Or these gaps where the box shows through? Or ripped ends showing? Or a pound of Scotch tape trying to hold it all together?”

It was Spike’s turn to scowl. “Bloody picky, you are.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, if we want Dawn to buy that Mom did this, then they can’t look like Bozo the Clown wrapped them while riding a roller coaster in a hurricane.”

“Oi!” Spike bristled, taking offense, but then one little word registered with him. “ _We_?” he questioned, arching a brow at her.

Buffy sighed and hastily stripped out of her coat, tossing it over his chair. She pushed the sleeves of her sweater up, grabbed a stack of the wrapped gifts and took them back over to the sarcophagus he’d been using as a worktable. “C’mon, Gift Wrapping 101 class is now in session.”

Spike grinned, picked up the other stack of presents, and followed her. “Tie me up in ribbons and bows. Teach me all your darkest secrets, professor. Ready and willing to subject myself to your tender ... or _not so tender_ , mercies.” He wagged his brows at her salaciously, his blue eyes dancing with unrestrained innuendo as he slid his gaze down her figure.

Buffy felt her face burn and a flush roll down her body, prickling her skin with gooseflesh and perspiration all at once. A vision of Spike in nothing but a ribbon under the massive Christmas tree flashed in her mind and her traitorous body tingled with yearning. She could only imagine what his muscled body would look like, but she had a good starting point for her imagination to run away with. She had, after all, felt up most of it during their short-lived, magically-induced ‘engagement’.

Buffy cleared her throat uncomfortably, shaking off the vision. “Only you could turn the innocent wrapping of Christmas gifts into a skin flick with an overused plot,” she asserted, though parts of that plot kept flashing through her mind. Buffy with a paddle. Spike had been a _very_ naughty boy. Drop your pants and bend over. Take your punishment like a man. Maybe on your hands and knees, submissive-Spike. ‘ _Gah!’_

“Seen lots o’ skin flicks, have you?” he purred, his eyes still glittering mischievously.

Buffy jumped, her eyes widening comically. “No, no... none. Just... you know, heard about them... in, um, Health class.”

Spike snorted, chuckling. “Well, might have to rectify that oversight in your education.”

“Don’t even go there,” Buffy warned, regaining her composure. “Now, I’m going to unwrap these,” she continued, getting back to business, doing her best to ignore his lascivious smirk and smoldering eyes as she set her pile of gifts down.

How could someone who was, at best, room temperature have such a searing gaze? Buffy’s temperature had risen to fevered levels since she’d come into the crypt, fueled by the fire that had erupted low in her belly. Sweat prickled her skin and she suddenly wished she could shed her sweater like she had her coat. But that would leave her in a camisole and that was most assuredly _not_ happening. There would be no unwrapping of anything except poorly-wrapped presents ... Christmas presents! No naked, bow-wrapped Spike under the tree begging to be unwrapped and played with... or on his knees in front of her, or anywhere!

“No fair cheatin’ and looking inside the boxes,” Spike insisted, following her lead, and setting his stack of gifts down too.

“What am I, _five_?” she huffed, wanting desperately to fan her face, but not wanting to give him any extra ammo for piggy comments.

That smoldering blue gaze raked over her shapely curves a second time, almost like a physical caress, undressing her with his eyes, which was only fair since she’d undressed him and tied him up with a bow.

“Definitely not,” Spike asserted in a suggestive rumble.

Buffy cleared her throat again and tugged at the collar of her sweater, trying to let some cool air hit her overheated skin. She needed a drink. “You,” she continued in as business-like tone as possible, as if he hadn’t spoken, “Are going to pour the brandy.”

“Don’t have any brandy.”

“Yes, you do. I brought you some in that beautifully wrapped package over there. Merry Christmas.”

Spike grinned devilishly. This night was looking up. Maybe those walls of hers would come tumbling back down again with a little help from Rémy Martin. “Superheroes with brandy… bloody brilliant!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE:  
> The ‘cracker’ Spike references is a Christmas cracker. They are festive table decorations that make a snapping sound when pulled open, and often contain a small gift and a joke. They are part of Christmas celebrations in the United Kingdom and other Commonwealth countries. 
> 
> Spike’s quip about Girl Scout cookies being made from actual Girl Scouts is from the movie ‘Addams Family’, which had baby-Harmony in it (Mercedes McNab). Here’s a link to that scene: https://youtu.be/3qsYKKxdRaU


	8. Pumpkin

* * *

Happy Holidays, everyone! I have a special gift for you all this wonderful day -- a Cameo message from James Marsters to all of the wonderful people here at Elysian Fields. [Click here to view it! ](https://www.cameo.com/v/5fdcba81df7a52001d2cf2a7?utm_campaign=video_share_to_copy) (Seriously, do it! You will not regret it!)

* * *

Buffy and Spike sat side-by-side on the floor, their backs against the sarcophagus-come-work-table in the center of the room, sipping the last of the brandy. They were surrounded by an ocean of colorful, ripped and wadded paper which littered the floor, forming waves of smiling Santas, sledding penguins, and romping reindeer. All the presents had been wrapped beautifully, adorned with bows, and tagged with the recipient’s name. They were all set to be delivered and placed beneath the tree on Christmas Eve. At least Dawn would be surprised; Buffy would just have to act surprised. The Slayer had only managed to peek into a couple of the boxes and, even then, hadn’t seen much. Spike had been uncharacteristically committed and unshakable in his attentiveness in that regard, even with alcoholic beverages. So, there would still be an element of surprise – and perhaps horror – when Buffy actually opened the gifts. She didn’t quite trust Spike’s sense of style.

“That’s bloody exhausting. Think I’d rather fight a Fyarl demon next year for the holidays,” Spike moaned, tilting his head from side to side, stretching and popping his neck.

Buffy chuckled. “I _know_ I’d rather fight a Fyarl demon. More fun and less work,” she admitted. _‘Dark and deadly’._

Spike snorted, leaning his head back against the stone and closing his eyes. “Maybe Rupert could look into arranging an apocalypse for the yule next year. Just a bitty one.”

“I’m sure he could find something in all those books of his… some dire prediction of death and destruction, just in time for Christmas,” Buffy agreed, yawning widely.

“Best get you home, Slayer… Cinderella’s gonna turn into a pumpkin, and I don’t reckon orange really goes well with your coloring.”

Buffy smiled at his joke. The night had been... fun. Or fun-ish, anyway. Spike had been an attentive student and a quick learner, once she showed him how to measure the paper against the box and cut it smoothly without ripping. He’d even dragged out an old, battered boombox and found a station playing Christmas tunes for a soundtrack. She was surprised to learn he had a decent singing voice as they Christmas-karaoked along with the songs – even if his lyrics didn’t always match hers...

“ _The fire is slowly dying. And, my dear, we're still goodbying. But as long as you love me so,  
let it snow, let it snow, let it...”_ Spike crooned along with the radio as he attached a frilly bow to one of Dawn’s gifts.

“ _’Goodbying’_? Are you sure that’s right?” Buffy interrupted. “I thought it was ‘ _perspiring’_... you know, cos of the fire.”

Spike chuckled, looking over at her, his blue eyes positively twinkling. “Well, I reckon there could be perspiring, pet. Depends on how... _enthusiastic_ the goodbying is, doesn’t it?” He wagged his brows at her suggestively and curled his tongue over his teeth, letting the tip rake tantalizingly across his upper lip.

Buffy’s face, already flushed from the adult beverage she’d been consuming, heated even more. Spike had kept filling her glass up all evening, seemingly after every small sip she took. He wasn’t exactly subtle with it, though Buffy managed to stay on the happy side of tipsy rather than the reckless side. She looked away from him, back down at the frolicking reindeer paper she was taping to another of Dawn’s gifts. “ _Hpmh_ , I guess,” she pouted. “But, I still don’t think ‘bells on bobtails’ was right. I mean, what are ‘bobtails’ anyway, and who would put bells on them? Did anyone ask Bob if he wanted bells on his tails? And how many tails does he have? I mean, clearly, Bob must be a demon. Just why is a demon with a bunch of tails in a Christmas song in the first place?”

Spike’s laugh was infectious, deep, and rich and utterly irresistible. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him really laugh before... at least not in a wicked, ‘I’m about to kill you’ kind of way. Buffy glanced over at the vampire and couldn’t stop herself from laughing with him, even as he shot down her assertions about Bob and his tails.

“Makes more sense than putting bells on ‘ _cocktail rings’_. Who puts bells on bloody cocktail rings?” he wondered, still chortling. 

“I don’t know... I bet Dawn would,” Buffy contended, finishing the package, and sliding it over for Spike to put a bow on it. 

Spike snorted. “Well, ya got me there.”

More than once Buffy tried to imagine doing this with Angel or Riley. Angel... well, honestly, she couldn’t imagine that at all. He’d never do it. He’d never have gone shopping at the mall. He’d never have gone to the hospital to see her mom. He certainly wouldn’t have put on Christmas music... okay, well, maybe Handel’s Messiah, but that would be it. Not so much with the fun on that sing-along.

Riley might’ve visited her mom, and he would’ve gone shopping. He needed to be needed, so that would’ve been right up his alley. Buffy imagined his wrapping style would’ve been very militant, hospital corners, sharp edges, plain paper, no ribbons or bows. Probably all of Buffy’s gifts would’ve been in blue paper, and all of Dawn’s in green. All the boxes would’ve been the exact same size so they would stack neatly. It would’ve been highly organized, and incredibly boring. There would be no music at all.

Spike, on the other hand had been all good-moody, especially after seeing she’d bought the expensive brandy. He’d been funny and attentive – too attentive when it came to making sure Buffy didn’t peek at any of the gifts – and even when they argued about songs or lyrics, it had all been good natured. It was a whole new side of Spike that Buffy had never before seen. He seemed to be on a roll with the showing of sides lately. Just how many sides did William the Bloody have?

Spike pushed up to his feet and sat his empty glass on the makeshift wrapping table before taking Buffy’s from her. She reached a hand up and he pulled her to her feet as she stifled another yawn. Buffy swayed a bit, her head swimming deliciously as the brandy swirled around inside her skull. She felt wonderfully relaxed. Spike kept her hand in his, his other hand slipping to the small of her back to steady her.

Their eyes met in the flickering light of the bank of candles. His hand was cool, even through her sweater, and steady. The other still grasping her hand was strong and solid. The warning of ‘ _vampire!’_ was a constant tingle down her spine, as it always was around Spike, but there was something more to it now. A quiver of desire danced over her body and settled low in her belly. Buffy swallowed hard and licked her lips, her heart suddenly skittering in her chest as their gazes held for what seemed hours or days.

Spike sides. Sides of Spike. Buffy couldn’t decide which side she wanted now – the heartfelt, ‘I-haven’t-always-been-bad’ superhero telling her she was glorious, or the ‘devil-may-care’ bad boy with the smoldering eyes and lewd suggestions. Were there other sides to choose from? The image of submissive-Spike from earlier popped into her mind, sending more tendrils of fire licking her skin deliciously.

Buffy blinked, clearing her throat uncomfortably and looking away. She gently pulled her hand from his grasp and took a step back, trying to calm all her racing thoughts and boiling blood. Was she honestly having these thoughts and feelings about Spike? God help her... yes, she was.

Spike let her go, wishing he had the words that would make her stay, make her understand. But the only words he had – _I love you_ – he knew would drive her away even faster. Instead, he asked, “Be alright on your own? Maybe I should come with—”

“No, I’m fine,” Buffy insisted immediately, looking around for her coat. “Slayer constitution, you know. Takes more than refilling my glass every five minutes to get me drunk.”

Spike snorted, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he ducked his head. “Noticed that, did you?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, which might’ve been a mistake, because she teetered a bit, but started for his comfy chair to retrieve her coat. “Yes, with the noticing. You aren’t exactly discreet, Spike.”

Spike grinned. “Part o’ my delightful charm.”

Buffy blew out an amused breath, but refrained from more eye rolling. As she picked up her coat, she took note of the small, scruffy ‘Charlie Brown’ Christmas tree atop Spike’s battered TV. In a former life, it might’ve been a single branch from the massive fir he’d gotten them. It had exactly one decoration on it – a gingerbread vampire.

“What’s this?” Buffy asked, her tipsiness fading as she fingered the lacquered finish of the ornament. “You stole my vampire?” she accused, turning to face him.

“’Stole’ is such a strong word,” Spike defended, squaring his shoulders and hooking his thumbs over his belt. “Thought of it as… rescuing.”

Buffy arched a brow at him. “Rescuing?” she repeated dubiously.

“Well, yeah… poor blighter was all alone in the box. All its mates having a grand time out on the tree, even the ugly clothes peg reindeer was frolicking with its friends in the evergreen. Took it upon m’self to save the little bugger… give it a properly good time here with his own kind. Understand that’s what us white hats do.”

Buffy rolled her eyes – bad idea! – before looking back at the monster she’d created… or maybe the Monks had created it for her. It was all so confusing. She sighed. “Fine, Lone Ranger, consider it a gift from me to you,” she agreed before catching sight of a small present beneath the tree.

“Oh! We missed one,” she assumed, reaching for the shabbily-wrapped box.

“No, that’s not—” Spike began, looking suddenly wide-eyed and nervous. He stepped forward, intending to snatch it from her hand, but Buffy turned and stepped away, blocking him.

“To Buffy from Spike?” she read on the little tag before looking up at him. All the other gifts had been ‘from Mom’ – none had been ‘from Spike.’

Spike sighed, ducking his head shyly. “Yeah, well… saw it while I was out, didn’t I? And thought… I dunno… it’s not much, really, just… something, thought you might… it’s not a big thing, really…”

“You’re babbling.”

Spike stopped and cleared his throat, looking up at her with a mixture of hope and fear on his expressive features. “Brought you to mind, is all.”

“Can I open it?” Buffy wondered, running her fingers over the shiny, slightly wrinkled, red and gold paper.

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, though his stomach was a roiling nest of madly fluttering butterflies. “If ya want.”

Buffy had to use Slayer strength to get through the layers of Scotch tape, but finally pulled out a small white jewelry box. She bit her lip as she opened the lid, not sure what to expect – something skull-themed, perhaps? What she found surprised her. It was a silver pendant depicting a crescent moon with a timeless, venerable face. The moon was curved around a brilliant, smiling sun. Between the dark and the light, dancing in the rays of the sun, was a flurry of stars. The symbolism of it was not lost on her – bright and shiny; dark and deadly.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/50447883@N08/50747795961/in/dateposted-public/)

“Oh, Spike…” she breathed, lifting it up by the chain and looking over at him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully, daring to step closer to her. “You really like it?”

Buffy gave him one of her best Colgate smiles. “I love it,” she assured him, surprising herself with her honesty. She handed the necklace to him and turned around, lifting her hair up so he could put it on her.

Spike’s fingers skimmed over the warm skin of her neck as he fastened it, and there it was again – that feeling. Droplets of icy fire tumbled down Buffy’s body, flushing her skin and rekindling her desire. She closed her eyes as that floaty sensation returned, leaving her feeling like blissful feather carried along in a delicate breeze. She hadn’t felt anything like it since… since their ‘engagement’, she realized.

Maybe her intoxication wasn’t all down to the brandy. Could it be just spending time with Spike – time when they weren’t bickering or fighting, but rather laughing and working together – would make her feel so pleasantly buoyant? It was impossible to deny that Spike had changed. He’d often made her feel vulnerable, seeing more than he ought, but recently he’d let her see more too. See behind the shields and the walls to the soft, gooey center. And it was getting harder and harder to deny that she kinda liked it, sweet and saucy and, well, undeniably Spike. Her body, and her imagination, certainly had their own favorable opinions about this new and improved Spike.

The vampire seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to clasp the necklace, but Buffy wasn’t complaining. Every brush of Spike’s fingers against her skin sent another wave of pleasure rolling over her. Would he kiss her neck? Did she _want_ him to kiss her neck?

Even after the necklace was in place, hanging against her chest, she stood there frozen, trying to sort through all the bright and deadly thoughts that were careening around inside her brandy-softened skull.

_‘And I suppose you know where to find this mythical creature?”_

_‘Can’t find ‘im for you, luv. Gotta do it yourself. Sometimes, it’s just a matter of taking off your Slayer-colored glasses, dropping the shields, and looking about.’_

_‘So, you’re looking for that mythical creature, too? One who loves you even when they hate you, who doesn’t scare easily, who’ll fight to the end of the world for you?’_

_‘Yeah, I reckon I am.’_

Spike cleared his throat, breaking Buffy from her thoughts, and she felt him step back. Buffy swallowed, dropped her hair, and opened her eyes before turning around to face him. “How does it look?” she asked in a raspy voice, running a finger over the intricately crafted silver.

Spike gave her a warm smile. “Beautiful, just like you, pet. Suits you.”

Buffy returned his smile, then bit her lip. “I… um, get the whole symbolism of it – night and day – glowy and dark… Slayer and woman.”

“Knew you would,” Spike admitted, his eyes softening.

“So, um… if I took off my Slayer-colored glasses and looked around, do you think I’d find that mythical creature who can, you know, handle the dark and the light? Who isn’t afraid of getting burned o-or battered?” she wondered, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. Her heart had begun racing, pounding a staccato beat against her ribs, and her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Spike’s warm smile turned hopeful. “Could give it a go – never know what might be lurkin’ in plain sight.”

“He’d need to be pretty… um, strong and, you know… brave, and the kind of person that would stick around even when I’m at my worst. Cos… honestly? I’m not sure I could handle someone else walking away,” Buffy admitted haltingly.

Spike nodded solemnly and took a step closer to her. “Would need t’ check his CV, I reckon. Maybe look for a bloke that stayed devoted to the woman he loved for over a century, who fought, fang and claw, to make it work. A fella who never walked away, no matter how much she hurt him, never left, not until she did.”

“Do… do you think someone like that would, you know, think I was… worth fighting for?” Buffy shrugged unsurely.

Spike lifted a hand to her forehead and slowly ran his fingers down her temple and cheek, gently pressing her hair back from her face. “Know he would. He’d think you were perfect, pet. He’d lo— err, stay devoted to you, even when he hated you.”

Buffy blinked back moisture that had suddenly pooled behind her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. She bit her lip, the corners of her mouth curving into a shy smile. “Would he maybe like to kiss me?”

“He thought you’d never ask,” Spike breathed, leaning in slowly, diffidently, and touching his mouth to hers.

Their lips met, parted, and came together again, exploring, tasting, remembering and re-discovering. She tasted of brandy and Buffy, darkness and light, Slayer and woman. Spike tasted of tobacco and brandy, the coppery tang of bright red blood and the coolness of silver moonbeams, vampire and man. The kiss deepened, slowly, tentatively. Teeth nipped at soft lips, tongues twined together. Buffy’s hands closed around his biceps and Spike’s arms snaked around her waist, pulling her soft, supple body against the hard planes of his.

The world seemed to stop spinning. There was nothing but them, floating in a kaleidoscopic sea of drifting clouds. Heated curves against cool muscle. Tongues dancing, tasting, teasing. Teeth nibbling on soft, full lips. Chests heaving with desperate breaths, even if one of them didn’t need to breathe. It felt wickedly perfect, as if this was something they’d both been waiting for, searching for, their entire lives.

Buffy’s hands slipped up over Spike’s strong shoulders to wrap around his neck and then tangle in his hair, breaking through the gel to release a riot of curls. The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate and frantic, neither able to get enough. Spike’s hands slid down to splay across her ass, lifting her up and against his almost-painful erection. Buffy took the hint and lifted her legs to clamp around his slim waist, pressing her burning core against his throbbing cock.

Spike spun them around, moving as if in a dream, floating through the cheerful detritus that littered the floor, until Buffy’s ass was atop the sarcophagus. His hands slipped up beneath her sweater and her camisole to find the soft glow of her bare skin. It was like touching sunbeams and stars; better than he remembered from their spell-induced snogging. Better even than any fantasy he’d ever conjured. Their hips ground together as if there were no fabric keeping their eager bodies apart. Sighs and growls and indistinct murmurs filled the cool air, each sound lifting them higher.

Buffy moaned into his mouth, overwhelming Spike with love and lust and a bone-deep yearning. He released her lips and began kissing a line of fire down over her jaw to her neck until he found the thudding pulse point. He suckled hungrily as the thrumming, overheated blood just beneath her skin as her head fell back in a surrender to the ecstasy. A reckless vow slipped from Spike’s throat in reply to her lusty little whimpers and unrestrained trust, her willing vulnerability. It was muffled, but seemed to reverberate through the crypt as if he’d shouted it from the rooftops. “Love you, God Buffy... love you so bloody much.”

Buffy jerked away from him, breathless and flushed, eyes disbelieving. Her heart thundered in her chest and her body hummed with desperate need, but her mind whirled with confusion, trying to process not only what he’d said, but the ferocity, the sincerity, with which he’d said it. Their eyes met, his frightened, knowing he shouldn’t have let those words slip out, hers wide with shock.

The moment seemed to last an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than a moment or two before Buffy pushed him back and jumped down from her perch.

“I… need to… pumpkin…” she stammered, grabbing her coat and sprinting for the door.

“Buffy, pet, please,” Spike began, but the sound of the slamming door drowned out his agonized plea.

“ _Bugger_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh! Did Spike just blow it? Did he admit too much too soon?


	9. Santa Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every one of you! Knowing the story is being enjoyed is like hot chocolate for my muse, with those little marshmallows, of course!
> 
> Thanks to PaganBaby and Holi117 for their beta assistance, though I've fiddled so much it's hardly the same chapter they originally looked at, so, of course, all errors are mine. LMK if you spot one and I'll fix it!

* * *

Of course, Spike had followed the fleeing Slayer out into the cool night, but she’d scarpered, fast as a rabbit from a fox. All that remained was her intoxicating scent drifting lightly on the breeze. “Such a sodding idiot!” he chastised himself, banging the side of his fist against his forehead as he looked around the empty cemetery. “Knew she wasn’t ready for that bollocks.”

He hadn’t gone after her – chasing her now would only make her run faster, build those walls she’d dropped back to epic proportions, proportions that he was sure he’d have no chance of scaling or tunneling under. He had to let her come to him. “Please, Slayer… come back,” he plead into the stillness of the winter night, but she didn’t. Not that night. Not the next.

When she hadn’t shown, even to patrol, by ten on that second night, he ignored his own advice and went to her house. He stood outside beneath the large oak, waiting and watching and chain smoking. He could see the flickering light of the TV through the sheer curtains in the living room, and could catch snatches of the dialogue from the telly. His girls were watching ‘ _It’s a Wonderful Life’_.

It had been a wonderful life the last few days. More wonderful than it had been in ages. Being around Buffy, getting her to open up, first with her words, then with her actions – yeah, it had been sodding wonderful. And, as usual, he’d bollixed it up. Spike sighed, dropping the fag end to the ground and grinding it beneath his heel as he squinted up into the thick branches of the tree above him. “Don’t reckon ya got any angels lookin’ to earn their wings, eh?” he inquired of the heavens. “Could do with a bit of a miracle here.”

Spike waited a few minutes, listening to the faint murmurs of the Summers women that filtered past the sound of the telly as they talked. He could smell popcorn and his chest ached, remembering their popcorn catching contest, remembering laughter and inclusion, remembering Dawn declaring him a superhero, but mostly remembering sitting with Buffy in the lights of the tree, talking, sharing, both tentatively lowering walls.

Why couldn’t he just keep his big mouth shut? Declarations of love never went well for him. How many bloody times did it take for him to learn that?

Of course, no Clarence-like apparition materialized to get him out of this mess. “Don’t expect helping out a vamp would get any bells to tinkling,” he admitted, giving one last, longing look toward the house before heading back to his crypt, head bent, hands stuffed into his duster pockets.

On the third night, Christmas Eve, he woke to find all the wrapped gifts gone from his crypt and a note in their place.

_I took the presents to put under the tree. Mom invited you to come over for Christmas dinner, just after sunset tomorrow. – Buffy_

Maybe he did have a guardian angel after all! It wasn’t exactly an undying declaration, but it was a crumb, a crumb from the Slayer’s _mum_ , but Spike could work with that. He’d been working with much less for a long time.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Spike could smell the food before he’d even turned up the walkway to the house. The mingled aroma of turkey roasting, mashed potatoes and gravy on the stove, and pumpkin pie cooling reminded him of his first meal with Buffy… tied to a chair, with a bear. “Please don’t let there be any sodding bears,” he muttered under his breath as he made his cautious way up the porch steps to the front door. That would be just his luck – a bloody hilarious cosmic joke.

Spike paused in front of the door and smoothed non-existent wrinkles from his blue oxford shirt and khakis, checked that his boots were free of grave dirt, and ran a hand over his gelled-to-immobility hair. Butterflies fluttered around behind his navel in a combination of fear and giddiness, hoping beyond hope that he could somehow mend things with the Slayer. With a deep, calming breath, he arranged the flowers and the bottle of wine for best effect, squared his shoulders, then rang the doorbell. The door opened almost before he’d pulled his hand away from the bell and an excited Dawn greeted him.

“Spike! Finally!” she gushed, grabbing his arm and nearly making him drop both the wine and the flowers as she dragged him inside. “You guyyyssss! Spike’s here!” she called to the house in general. “Can we start now??!?”

Spike’s brows furrowed as he juggled his good tidings, barely keeping from crushing the flowers or shattering the wine bottle. From the movies he’d watched, he’d expected the lounge to be a disaster area, cluttered with open boxes, discarded wrappings, and gushed-over gifts. There was none of that; in fact, all the gifts he and Buffy had wrapped were untouched, spread out like a smorgasbord of cheer under the tree.

“Spike! Don’t you look nice? And you’re right on time,” Joyce greeted him, standing up from where she’d been reclining on the couch.

“I, uh, thanks, pet… wasn’t sure…” he stammered, feeling off-balance and uncomfortably self-conscious.

“Oh, what lovely flowers,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, admiring the posies in his hand. “You didn’t have to.”

Spike shrugged. “Least I could do,” he offered diffidently, tugging nervously at the collar of his shirt.

“Actually, you’ve done so much. I really can’t thank you enough,” Joyce gushed, looking at the tree and all the beautifully wrapped gifts. “The girls were so surprised this morning.”

Spike nodded, but shifted his gaze nervously away from hers, noting that Buffy was nowhere in sight, though he could feel her nearby. It made his stomach flip again. “Glad t’ help.” 

“Why don’t you take the flowers into the kitchen. Buffy can get a vase… and that wine will be lovely with dinner.”

“Mom’s resting. We’re cooking Christmas dinner,” Dawn explained. “C’mon!” she urged, pulling him by the arm again.

Spike followed her into the kitchen where Buffy was basting the turkey. Spike’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg her to forget what he’d said. If they could just go back to where they were before that, everything would be fine.

“Guess who’s here?” Dawn trilled as she started opening cabinets, looking for a vase.

“Dawn, the whole neighborhood knows who’s here,” Buffy chided, turning to face the girl. “You aren’t exactly subtle. And I’d like to know how ‘ _we’re_ ’ cooking dinner when you’ve been doing nothing but drooling over the presents all day.”

Buffy looked up at Spike, who had stopped in the doorway. “Hey, Spike,” she said in a neutral greeting, seeming nervous, unable to quite meet his eyes. “Merry Christmas.”

Spike gave her a diffident nod. “Buffy… Smells good as I remember.”

Buffy gave him a small, knowing smile and the whole room lit up. “Let’s just hope there are no bears this time,” she teased.

The Slayer flipped her hair back over one shoulder and Spike saw she was still wearing the necklace he’d given her. Spike’s heart soared with hope, but he dared not do anything to spook her. He chuckled, trying to appear unfussed. “Got no argument from me on that count.”

“We even got you some blood,” Dawn announced, filling up the vase with some water before taking the flowers from Spike.

“Thanks, Bit. Reckon I’ll be all right with the cranberries and whatnot,” he assured her as Buffy took the wine from his hand. He tried to catch her eye, but she didn’t look at him directly, keeping her eyes averted. _Bugger_. That couldn’t be good.

“Okay, pleasantries over!” Dawn declared, having gotten the flowers arranged suitably in the vase. “Can we open the presents now?”

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Let me put the turkey back in the oven and then—”

“Yay! About time!” the girl cut her off, jostling excitedly past Spike and back into the living room, all gawky limbs and child-like glee. “Buffy says we can finally open the presents!” Dawn told Joyce in a voice loud enough for the ghosts of Restfield to hear.

Buffy snorted and turned her attention back the turkey.

“Thought ya opened the goodies on Christmas morn,” Spike ventured, coming up to stand at the breakfast counter behind Buffy, begging her silently to turn around, to look at him, to give him another crumb of hope.

“We normally do,” Buffy admitted. “But when Santa is a vampire, you open them on Christmas night.”

“That so?” Spike asked, his brows furrowed, but a small smile quirking his lips. He couldn’t get a read on her at all like this. But she seemed... friendly? She hadn’t bloodied his nose yet, or even threatened to stake him. Had someone wiped her memory? If the red witch had done one of her forgetting spells, Spike was gonna get her a new broom for Christmas.

“Them’s the rules,” Buffy affirmed, opening the oven door, and sliding the turkey back in. She turned around to face Spike, finally meeting his eyes. His unneeded breath caught in his throat as she gave him another smile, though this one looked a little mischievous. “So, are you ready to pass out the presents, Santa?”

Spike quirked a suspicious brow at her. “What’s the catch?” It didn’t really matter what the catch was – she was looking at him. He’d stand out in the midday sun under a waterfall of holy water if she’d just keep looking at him like this.

Buffy picked up a Santa hat from the counter and held it out to him. “You have to wear this.”

Spike looked from the red and white swath of fuzz back up to her eyes and his mouth, as usual, ran off without checking in with his brain. “ _Just_ the bonnet? You sure the Summers ladies are ready for that, pet?” he teased, his eyes glittering with wicked mirth as he slid a hand down his chest to rest on his belt buckle. He wagged his brows at her and curled his tongue against his teeth lecherously.

Buffy blushed, following the track of his hand with her eyes, her imagination once again treating her to all sorts of naughty images of Santa-Spike in nothing but the hat... and bows. There should definitely be bows. ‘ _Santa, baby, hurry down the chimney tonight.’_

Buffy cleared her throat nervously and looked away, picking off some non-existent, and apparently undesirable, fuzz on the hat.

‘ _Oh, bloody hell! Can’t keep your trap shut, can you? Shouldn’t provoke her and get her scarpering again, you stupid git!’_

“What _are_ you guys _doing_!? C’mon! It’s present time!” Dawn demanded eagerly, coming back into the kitchen.

Buffy bit her lip and tossed Spike the Santa hat. “G-rated Santa,” she instructed firmly.

Spike caught it easily, and slipped it onto his head. “How’s that look, then?” he wondered, trying to get her to look at him again.

It worked. She looked up appraisingly. Buffy licked her lips. _‘Good enough to wish I’d hung some mistletoe,’_ she thought. “Very Santa-like... if Santa was an Abercrombie model.”

A pleased grin spread over Spike’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. She was looking at him again, not running, not attacking. “Take that as a compliment, then.”

“Oh, _my God_!” Dawn complained in utter exasperation. “Who cares what he looks like!? It’s present time!” she reminded them again, tugging on Spike’s arm. He let her drag him away with a chuckle, keeping his gaze turned back toward the Slayer, who was still smiling as she followed.

Maybe Christmas miracles did happen, after all.

* * *

I know it's another short chapter, so here's a little holiday treat -- a Christmas moodboard of sorts. Manips by the incomparable PaganBaby. You can see more of her work on her [tumblr blog here.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paganbabymcsmutty)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/50447883@N08/50749872356/in/dateposted-public/)

And, if you aren't familiar with Abercrombie and Fitch models, here's a sample for your viewing pleasure...

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/50447883@N08/50751443237/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter to go ... Clarence better work fast!


	10. Mythical Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, everyone! I hope you've enjoyed this little romp, I know I have. I wish you all a Happy Holiday -- whatever yours is -- and hope that the New Year will bring us something better than 2020 provided!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, thanks to everyone who has stopped in and left a comment, and to all the lurkers who have quietly traveled along with me. I appreciate you all more than you can possibly know. 
> 
> Thanks also to PaganBaby and Holi117 for their beta assistance, though I've fiddled so much it's hardly the same chapter they originally looked at, so, of course, all errors are mine. And hugs and smooches to Paganbaby for the lovely banner.

* * *

Spike had never had a better Christmas, not even when his father had gotten him is very own horse – a roan mare called Belle – when he was twelve.

He played Santa, hat and all, as Buffy had suggested, picking out the gifts from beneath the tree and handing them out to the three Summers ladies. There had been shrieks of joy from Dawn as all the items on her list were checked off, shocked amazement from Buffy when Spike’s sense of style was deemed to be ‘not horrible’, and subdued, but genuine appreciation from Joyce.

Spike had been overwhelmed almost to the point of speechlessness to find gifts with his name on them under the tree. Spike and Joyce had gotten each other books – the same book, as it turned out – Anne Rice’s, ‘Interview with the Vampire.’ Joyce suggested she exchange her copy for, ‘The Vampire Lestat’ and Spike agreed to continue their new tradition of poking fun at vampire literature with her. Dawn had gotten Spike a new novelty mug featuring a sexy, fanged female vampire mouth licking blood from her lips with the motto, ‘One bite is never enough’ stenciled on the side. Spike had gotten Dawn a new diary for the new year, the cover adorned with flower blossoms and colorful butterflies, which earned him a tight hug. No one seemed to notice that Spike and Buffy didn’t exchange any gifts.

When the last present had been excitedly unwrapped and gushed over, the living room looked like Spike had thought it would. The whole place was festooned with the remnants of bright paper and ribbons covering the floor, with gifts strewn over chairs and perched on the tabletops. All their hard work – all the fastidious wrapping, meticulous taping, and painstaking matching of bows to paper – was annihilated, reduced to so much cheerful rubbish. It was bloody perfect and worth every papercut and muttered curse.

“Come on, Dawn, the least we can do is get the table set,” Joyce suggested as she got up and headed for the dining room, her youngest daughter following dutifully behind, leaving Buffy and Spike alone.

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence before they both said, “I’m sorry about—”

They both stopped talking, then began again together, “—the other night.”

They stopped again, staring across the gaudy drifts of discarded wrappings at each other. Buffy held up her hand. “Let me talk,” she requested, stepping through the detritus until she was within arm’s reach of the uneasy-looking vampire.

Spike braced himself, reaching up and tugging the ridiculous Santa had from his head, dropping it onto a nearby chair. He’d been such a bloody prat! Couldn’t be happy with kissing her, had to go and open his big sodding mouth and—

“I… got you something,” Buffy began, cutting off his thoughts as she held a smallish, neatly wrapped box out to him.

“Didn’t have to,” he began automatically.

“I know. I wanted to,” she said, extending it further until he took it.

Spike couldn’t imagine what this could be, and he was a bit afraid to open it, but steeled his nerve and carefully began to remove the paper. Buffy folded her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes impatiently. For someone who wrapped gifts with utter abandon, his painstaking unwrapping style was unexpectedly annoying. She managed to not just grab the box from his hand and rip the paper off herself – barely. After Spike had put the still-neat, unripped foil-paper into the pocket of his khakis for safekeeping, he held the small box in his palm and pulled the lid off.

Buffy watched his confused expression as he lifted the ornament from the box by the string and let it dangle and twirl in front of his face. It was a lacquered gingerbread girl complete with a skirt, longish blonde hair, a stake in one hand, green eyes, and a grin on her red lips.

His brows were still furrowed when he looked up at Buffy. She shrugged. “I thought that your gingerbread vampire could use, you know, some company. I mean, if you think the vampire would like that… having a Slayer to hang around with, maybe… you know, go on dates with, maybe to the movies or… or dancing, or… or patrol with...” she babbled awkwardly.

Spike’s confusion cleared, his lips curving into a relieved, ecstatic grin. “I reckon the vampire would be chuffed t’ bits, havin’ the Slayer to hang about with. Thought the vampire said as much not three nights ago.”

“The vampire said a lot of things. The Slayer wasn’t sure if she’d messed it up, though. Pretty sure fleeing from the scene wasn’t the response he was looking for,” Buffy suggested, dropping her gaze to the vibrant sea of wrapping paper on the floor.

“The vampire’s come to expect rabbiting in the face o’ his declarations,” Spike admitted, ducking his head and rubbing a hand along the back of his neck shyly.

“What does that mean?” Buffy wondered, looking back up at him.

“Know how many women I’ve said those words to in my life?”

Buffy shook her head, watching him curiously, realizing she really didn’t know that much about Spike’s love life other than Drusilla.

“Four, including you. And three-quarters had about the same reaction as you did. The fourth was my mum, so, not sure that should go in the tally, if I’m honest, bringing it to a nice round three outta three. Think they call that battin’ a thousand here in the Colonies.”

Buffy’s brows drew together. “Dru... ran?”

“Not literally.” He sighed resignedly before going on, “Just shagged everything with a dick, starting with Angelus and ending with that sodding Chaos demon... and plenty more in between. The other was before Dru – chit named Cecily – ironically she was what drove me to Dru’s fickle arms and harsh mercies.”

“Oh. I’m... sorry. I... didn’t know,” Buffy offered sincerely. She gnawed her lip, dropping her eyes again, this time landing on Spike’s boots. He’d polished them. She blinked, taken aback by that. She’d never seen his boots shiny before. More sides to Spike she’d never seen. Buffy shook herself and refocused.

“The Slayer...” She sighed and gathered her courage, forcing her gaze back to meet his. In for a penny, in for a pound cake. “ _I_ haven’t had much luck with guys who say those words to me,” she admitted. “It makes hearing them a little freaksome, especially when...”

Spike waited. Her green eyes shifted from determined to unsure, and her gaze dropped back to his gleaming boots.

“Especially when the gits don’t mean it? Not like they should? When they don’t see what a sodding miracle it is to be with you? Can’t appreciate your strength or are blinded by your light? Can’t see how magnificent you are? When they’re too daft to know you’re worth fighting for... worth any sacrifice?” Spike filled in softly, reaching a hand out to gently touch her chin, urging her eyes back up to his, before dropping his arm.

Buffy’s eyes were emerald pools shining with moisture when she met his penetrating gaze. She gave him a wan smile as she wrapped her arms around her torso like a shield. “I guess that’s one interpretation,” she agreed with a small, sardonic smile. “But I was gonna say especially when I had just told you that if you walked away it would... well, it would hurt... a lot. You could hurt me.”

Spike’s gaze softened into compassion, his head tilting as he regarded her. “Goes both ways, pet. Never hurt you, Buffy – not on purpose, not for the world. Would go to the ends of the Earth for you, pet, if ya just give me a chance. But if you walked away, it’d hurt... a lot.”

Buffy clamped her teeth down over a pensive smile at his echo of what she’d said. “I... I can’t say it back. Not... not yet.”

“Didn’t except you to. Just asking for you to stay, give me... give _us_ a fair shot,” Spike allowed.

Buffy nodded, considering. “I’ve never been the one who walked away... maybe even when I should’ve,” she reminded him.

“Well, that makes two of us then, doesn’t it? Sounds like a matched-set t’ me.”

“Like those cute penguin salt and pepper shakers?”

Spike smiled, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, like that,” he agreed. “Gotta wonder, though. Should the pepper penguin worry about the salt bolting again if he says something daft?”

Buffy shrugged again, her eyes darting away from his, wringing her hands nervously. “Is the pepper penguin planning on making with the daftness?”

Spike bobbed his head in a small shrug. “Wouldn’t bet against it. It’s another of his most endearing charms.”

Buffy’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile, but then her expression grew serious again. “Did the vampire penguin mean what he said?” she wondered in a small voice, glancing back up at Spike, then away again.

“Think the Slayer knows the answer to that, or she wouldn’t have scarpered.”

“I wasn’t running from you,” Buffy assured him. “I was just... wigged. If you get to be daft sometimes, then I get to be wigged.”

“That’s fair, then. Long as you come back, let me know what I’ve done. Let me make it up to you.”

Buffy let herself smile then, a relieved, hopeful expression that reached all the way to her eyes spread over her face. “What would the making up entail exactly?” she wondered coyly.

Spike’s teeth closed over his lower lip and he took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. “Better at showin’ than telling,” he breathed, letting his rumbling voice trail off as he leaned in, giving Buffy plenty of time to pull back, but she didn’t. The last inch that separated them closed with a sigh and moan of pleasure. They picked up as if no time had passed, their lips and tongues eager and willing, their bodies pressing together, seeking out the other, their hearts reaching out to embrace the mythical creature they’d been searching for, their perfect match.

Spike began walking backwards towards the tree in the back corner of the room, away from the two other Summers’ who were scurrying between the dining room and kitchen. Buffy followed willingly, chasing his lips with hers, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him from escaping.

Buffy’s heart felt light, hopeful for the first time in forever. Her mom was home and doing well, and Spike – this somehow new and improved, and multi-faceted Spike – loved her. Like, _really_ loved _her –_ the good the bad and the Slayer-y. She didn’t have to hide anything from him – not that she’d ever been able to anyway. He could see her like no one else ever had, and loved her in spite of it. No, that wasn’t it at all. Spike loved her _because_ of it. He clearly wasn’t afraid of her darkness or her light, her strength or her weaknesses or even her inappropriate responses to declarations of love. True, Dawn was still the Key and still in danger, but now Buffy had another warrior at her side – one nearly as strong as she was – to help keep her sister safe. Plus... kisses. Kisses of Spike. Melty, knee-shaking kisses of Spike.

Spike turned them, swapping positions, and pressed Buffy against the wall next to the tree. His senses were overwhelmed with the heat of her, the heady scent of her, the softness of her lips, and the eagerness of her moans. She’d believed him! Accepted his affections and was clearly not averse to returning them. Dancing, movies, dates, even patrolling with the Slayer were the things of dreams... wet dreams, if he was honest. And here she was, in his arms, returning his kisses, her hands holding him to her as fiercely as he held her. He was determined to not bollix this up... though, if he did, the making up could be a bit of all right.

Their hands had just begun sliding beneath the hems of shirts to find bare, quivering flesh when the dinner bell rang, literally. Dawn had found a handbell somewhere and was ringing it with gusto.

“Dinner!” Joyce announced from the dining room over the din of the clanging bell. “Come on you two.”

Buffy and Spike jerked apart, both panting for breath, but there was no fleeing, no hiding. Their eyes met and held for a long, meaningful moment. Then laughter boiled up from deep inside both of them – joyous, unfettered laughter that mingled with the glittering lights of the tree, the kaleidoscope of shredded wrappings, and the aroma of the meal. It was, by far, the best Christmas either of them could remember.

“Shall we?” Spike asked, putting the gingerbread Slayer with his other loot and extending his elbow to Buffy like a proper escort.

“We shall,” she agreed, grinning as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

Dawn began clanging the dinner bell again. Spike chuckled, glancing up at the ceiling as he and Buffy turned and headed to the table, her warm hand settled comfortably on his arm. Judging by all that ringing, a whole plethora of angels must have gotten their wings to make this Christmas miracle come true.

“By the way,” Joyce began as Buffy and Spike came into the dining room. “Dawn said you might know how that stain got on the ceiling and my Qing cloisonné porcelain vase got broken.”

Buffy and Spike’s eyes met and they both answered at once. “Santa,” Buffy offered, while Spike blamed it on, “St. Nick.”

“Very clumsy,” Buffy continued with a knowing nod.

“Was likely pissed ... too much brandied eggnog,” Spike agreed.

Joyce’s brows went up. “I thought Santa was a myth.”

“Well, you were clearly myth-taken,” Buffy joked. Twice in one year to use that line! This made her inordinately happy.

“Are a few mythical creatures still wandering about. Just gotta know where to look for ‘em,” Spike revealed, glancing over at Buffy who turned to meet his sparkling, blue eyes.

Buffy nodded, her own eyes gleaming. “There could be one be standing in front of you right now and you wouldn’t even realize it unless you were really looking.”

“Well, you’ll let me know if you see one, won’t you?” Joyce wondered, not sure to be worried or curiously excited as her eyes darted around, trying to spot one.

Buffy and Spike both smiled, their eyes glittering as their gazes met and held. “Will do.”

**The end.**

* * *

Here's a little moodboard for this chapter to finish everything off. If you've downloaded this and can't see the picture, you can find it at this link: <https://flic.kr/p/2kk8qcM>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be safe, stay healthy, keep the faith, and never stop believing in mythical creatures and miracles!
> 
> If you are unfamiliar with the ringing of bells signaling that an angel just earned their wings, then stop right now, go find the movie "It's a Wonderful Life", make some popcorn, curl up, and see what it's all about. Happy Christmas, everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! More to come, obviously! Like I said, I've broken this story down into small, bite-sized chunks for the holidays. I'll be posting regularly, though, and it will absolutely all be posted by Christmas, likely way before! Thanks again!


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